eat my [own] shorts

On occasion, I’ll refer to myself as an underachiever.

Which, inevitably, draws a round of guffaws. But, honestly, I am.

Not, perhaps, against some external standard, against some outside set of average expectations. But, certainly, against my own expectations, against my sense of what I could be getting done if I didn’t piss away huge percentages of each of my days.

Over the past few years, I’ve pulled together a collection of anal-retentive organization systems and pro-productivity mind hacks to fight that. But my gains have been, to be honest, incremental at best.

Very recently, however, I’ve come to realize that a focus on building the right tools means little until I’m ready to wield them. Sure, those elaborate systems can help me work far more effectively, but only if I can actually force myself to sit down and get to work in the first place.

So, as of today, I’m officially launching a war on procrastination. (Or maybe as of tomorrow. [Hah! I kid. Just a bit of procrastination humor there.]) For the next few weeks, at least, I’ll be keeping a minute-by-minute time journal of my work day, tracking my ‘billable hours’, even if I’m just billing those hours to myself. If, indeed, awareness is the first step in the process of change, then perhaps by becoming fully aware of how I actually spend and waste time, by regularly rubbing my own nose in the stupid shit I manage to convince myself to do instead of productive work, I can actually set myself on the path to getting things done.

Wish me luck.