Procrastination: On Second Thought

I was pretty unequivocal in my solution to procrastination:  from now on I’ll give myself three days, then muscle through whatever I’m putting off (see 12/13/11).  Clearly this would keep thing from piling up and reduce my information overload.  However.  The day after that post, something weird happened that made me rethink this hard and fast approach.

My husband and I had been meaning to get him Long Term Disability Insurance, and his employer didn’t offer it.  Without it, we were jeopardizing our family’s financial stability, should something awful happen and he couldn’t work.  But LTD insurance falls into the category of “Grown Up Stuff We’d Rather Not Think About,” so for years we did nothing.  Our financial planner must have been drinking herself to sleep with all our foot dragging. 

Over the summer we finally began conversations with an insurance guy who could get us private LTD insurance.  At a steep price.  We (I) got the ball rolling…then dropped it.  I didn’t follow through and it became one more monkey on my back.  Fast forward to December 14^th:  My husband comes home with his new benefits package, and lo and behold, his company will start offering group (much cheaper) LTD insurance come January 1^st.  Happy new year!

Enough with the inner workings of my financial life.  The point is that procrastination seems to serve a purpose sometimes.  When we think we're putting things off, the universe is actually looking out for us.  Apparently we have to learn how to distinguish between good procrastination and bad procrastination.  Right now, I don’t know how to tell the two apart.  

Field Experiment #2: Procrastination Comes to Visit

The three of you reading this may have noticed there were no posts in November.  Zero.  Zilch.  Nada.  Seems I unwittingly conducted another Field Experiment, this time in procrastination.  I had a bit of writer’s block, and the longer I went without posting, the bigger deal it became.

We all know how this works:  The field trip permission slip goes unsigned until you’re running towards school while the buses are loading.  You’re at FedEx on December 22^nd, spending more on shipping than the gift.  The electric bill goes unpaid until it costs extra to pay over the phone.  It would be nice if we didn’t bring these crises on ourselves, but alas, such is human nature.

Around the world, people with advanced degrees are researching the science of procrastination (I wonder if they ever put off writing their reports?), so getting to the root of this evil is beyond me.  However, I can tell you what finally got me to write this post:  I treated procrastination like a houseguest.  I welcomed procrastination warmly, we had some laughs, then on Day Three I showed procrastination the door.

I’m going to keep using this technique whenever I just can’t get something done.  I’ll mark procrastination’s three-day visit on my calendar, and on the last day I’ll forge ahead with the dreaded task.

Who knows, maybe procrastination will leave early next time?

Chronological Disorder

I must confess I've done nothing about the paper piles in my office (see my 9/27/11 post).  I did hang a curtain to hide my open shelving, but that’s probably cheating.

However, I think I'm getting to the root of my problem.  I have this anal retentive quirk that stops me from getting the papers on the floor into the filing cabinet:  I need to file things in chronological order.  I had to laugh as I typed those words, because it's a ridiculous hang up.  Do my appliance manuals really need to be filed by date of purchase?  No, no, a thousand times, no.  The fact that I have a file for the appliance manuals should be a moral victory.

Back in the go-go ‘80s, I interned for Chiat/Day Advertising, the place to be for aspiring mad (wo)men.  At the time, the company motto was “Good enough is not enough.”  The mantra was everywhere – on t-shirts, coffee mugs, legal pads.  To a lowly 20-year-old, the message was clear:  if you can’t put forth your absolute best effort, don’t bother. 

So here I am, twenty-something years later, surrounded by enough paper to choke an industrial shredder.  It would take me weeks to file it chronologically.  But you know what?  I’m going for half-assed this time.  Martha Stewart isn't coming anytime soon to do a surprise inspection of my filing cabinet.  Heck, I probably won’t ever look in most of these files again except to toss them.

Thus, I’m signing off now to attack one pile.  I’m giving myself five minutes to cram the most important sheets into their respective files and recycle the rest.  Because good enough is enough already.

The Digital Umbilical Cord

“Mom, I’m the only one of my friends who doesn’t have email!”  For months, that was the standard complaint from my ten-year-old daughter.  At first it was a gross exaggeration.  Only one of her friends had an email account, so this girl could just email herself.  But over time, more and more 4^th graders got their much anticipated email addresses.  By the summer, my daughter really was the only one without email.

I have enough trouble with my own email.  I’m always worried about being hacked, defrauded, fleeced, duped or otherwise conned.  So I found the idea of my baby on email to be absolutely terrifying.  I was convinced that a Nigerian scam artist pornographer would be sending her communiques within minutes.

Luckily, my friend Stephanie told me about Zoobah, a kid-safe, ad-free email service, which was a wonderful compromise.  Zoobah is basically My First Email.  It has all sorts of parental controls, so you can spy on your child as much as you want. 

I set up my daughter’s email account so that I could control her contact list (she couldn't send or receive email from anyone I hadn't vetted).  I also opted for copies of all her incoming and outgoing messages.  Once I had her account up and running, I sat back and prepared myself for some serious surveillance.  However, all my security precautions proved a little unnecessary.  So far, her email conversations have gone something like this:

“I am excited for the weekend.”

“Me too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“:)”

“I have to go to my brother’s soccer game.”

“Yep.” 

Scandalous stuff.  I'm blessed that my gal has very wholesome friends.  No 5^th grade Satan worshipers, drug addicts or car thieves.  So for now, I can relax a bit, and even skip over some of the cc’ed messages that appear in my inbox.  But middle school is less than a year away, and I know I’ll be back on high alert.  Because, as one of her fellow Girl Scouts said, hootchie mamas go to middle school.  And you can’t be too careful.

Field Experiment #1: How'd it go?

On October 4^th, I set out to adopt an Attitude of Gratitude to counteract feeling overwhelmed with everyday details.  For every piece of information that came my way, I would find something, anything, to feel thankful for.  To remind myself, I stuck Post-Its around the house that said “Thank you.”  My family graciously indulged me.

So how’d it go?  I must say, quite well.  When I received an email with several to-dos for the Girl Scout bake sale, I was thankful to be involved in the project (it did turn out to be fun and profitable).  When I opened a Visa bill, I was grateful to have the money to pay it.  When I got a recorded message from some county politician, I just laughed.  I started to feel a little less stressed.

After awhile, the Post-Its became part of our domestic landscape -- they didn’t register anymore.  So I started programming random “thank you” alerts into my online calendar.  I think the trick is to change up reminders from time to time, so that I can’t ignore them.  I may start leaving notes in my car or sock drawer.  Whatever works, right?  My goal is to keep this up until gratitude becomes a habit, like brushing my teeth.  If I don’t have to remind myself, I will have internalized the lesson.

I’m so happy this Attitude of Gratitude made a small dent in my information overload.  I didn’t get rid of any info coming in, but I reframed my response.  I’m starting a "what I've figured out so far" sidebar on this blog, to summarize my progress.  Hopefully the list will grow until I achieve some sort of framework to live my life in peace – with or without the Post-Its.

I Heart My iPhone

There’s an apparent anomaly in my quest to reduce information overload.  My iPhone.  You’d think a device that lets people reach me whenever and wherever I am, through calls, texts and emails, would bring me angst.  But no.  I love that thing.

Turns out I’m not alone.  A couple of weeks ago in the New York Times, branding consultant Martin Lindstrom shared the results of an experiment he co-conducted that looked at subjects’ brain activity when they saw or heard a ringing iPhone.  Lindstrom reports there was a “flurry of activation in the insular cortex of the brain, which is associated with feelings of love and compassion. The subjects’ brains responded to the sound of their phones as they would respond to the presence or proximity of a girlfriend, boyfriend or family member.” 

I must say, I’m not surprised.  The iPhone deserves all the ardor it inspires.  It's the one digital device that delivers on its promises.  It keeps me connected on the go, provides information and entertainment in the palm of my hand, and well, makes me feel cool.  My iPhone keeps me from being a digital shut-in awaiting an important call or email in my office.  I drive to my destination faster after consulting my traffic app.  I scan bar codes as I shop to compare prices.  And I fully understand how to use my iPhone, which is more than I can say about the other technology in my life.

Lindstrom ended his New York Times piece by urging us to turn off the iPhone from time to time, in order to make genuine human connections.  Of course, I agree.  But don't be surprised to see my iPhone in our Christmas card photo this year.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/01/opinion/you-love-your-iphone-literally.html

Prompt Attention Required

FINAL NOTICE.  INVOICE ENCLOSED.  FROM THE LAW OFFICES OF DEWEY, CHEATUM AND HOWE.

I get so irked by junk snail mail that looks official.  I know it’s a come on, but I always check, just in case.  What if I really am being sued, or I’ve been turned over to a collections agency?  I open the envelope, then swear under my breath.  They got me again.

I’ve become a little more sophisticated in assessing junk mail.  I’ve figured out that no one subpoenas Current Resident.  But the panic angel on my shoulder, the one whose favorite words are “what if?”, compels me to check the best hoaxes.

What makes me the maddest is when good organizations stoop to this tactic.  I once received a "summons" from the county sheriff.  The design of the envelope was so cheesy, I had to peek inside.  Turns out it was from a nonprofit group I truly respect.  I won’t name names, but let’s just say they are women parents who fight people operating heavy machinery after drinking judgment-impairing beverages.  I called the organization and told them they were too good for that.  It was an eloquent rant, with many convincing points.  Too bad I had to leave it on some staffer’s voicemail.

Shyster lawyers will use any trick in the book to compete for my attention.  I hope I stop falling for it one day.  But I also hope the good guys will pay attention to their messages so that I may actually send a check right back.