Are you stuck in the effort swamp?

Ugh. My client’s response at mere mention of that task. 😣 But why such doom? Was it boring, or tricky, or scary? Nope.

And yet an unassuming item on the to-do list had become insurmountable – and thrown a brilliant leader into calamity. Not of the racing heart, bitter self-doubt variety. This was altogether more lackadaisical. My poor client hadn’t crashed, so much as gently roly polied into the effort swamp.

What is the effort swamp?

Take a look at your to-do list. Which item stubbornly resists removal? Or keeps falling off? Or spurs you into high performance procrastination? There’s a good chance it’s belly flopped into the swamp.

The effort swamp tends not to affect the big and dramatic, or even unutterably dull, so much as the squashy middle. Where the rewards seem simply too intangible, incremental or snoozily mañana.¹ And where boredom arises less from the Thing itself than the endless not-doing of it.

Stuff you can do, would benefit from doing, but also won’t die from not doing often thrives in the effort swamp. Which perhaps explains another of its intriguing features: the self-stymie. You don’t do it, so there’s no benefit, so you were right not to do it. QED. 🤷‍♀️ A glorious cart-before-the-horse call to inaction.²

A few IRL examples:³

• A client who hasn’t got round to reviving a valuable learning exchange because the admin might get onerous
  Even though they could cap the numbers, or crowdsource a solution (or… whisper it… discover there’s not that much demand)

• A mate who never quite has time to sort out their website because it doesn’t drive much traffic⁴
  Even though it doesn’t drive much traffic because it doesn’t work properly

• And me(a culpa)⁵: a product I haven’t finished because the sales might not recoup the faff
  Even though they definitely won’t if it never goes on sale 🙄

What with the not dying thing, the effort swamp is easy to dismiss. But being not bovvered is, annoyingly, quite a lot of bother. Thinking about whether to do the Thing is effort. Finding stuff to do instead is effort. Bashing yourself over the head for not making the effort is, yep, effort. It’s just not effort well spent. So what to do?

Ask impertinent questions 🤔

Does it actually matter?
What might happen if you just get on with it? Why is it more strategic not to bother? What might happen if you never do it?

Are you luxuriating in the swamp?
Which obstacles are real and which imagined? Where are you moved by a spirit of perversity? Where are you cosying up to being crap?⁶

Who might you become?
Who might you be if you climbed out of the swamp? Who might you be if you don’t? Which is scarier?

Fancy an expanded version of these Impertinent Questions? Download it here. Keen to get nosy every day? You might like my month of Impertinent Questions. (Fear not – you get weekends off.)

Budge the grudge

The effort swamp is often mired in a perception of drudgery – and real resentment. One day you’re mulling over the task; the next you begrudge everything it stands for. Like my mate who agreed to speak at an event, couldn’t decide what to speak about, and then told me all talks were boring, stupid and futile anyway. 😫⁷ Druge begets grudge in almost touching mutualism.

So get curious. Where might you find the fun and skip the swamp? Which bits are truly unavoidable? How might your ugh be another’s ooh?⁸ Even if the drudge (and grudge) doesn’t crumble under interrogation, at least you know what’s what. And that gives you a chance to make it less boring/tricksy/draining.⁹

Start anywhere, strategise en route

Leaders are frequently encouraged to set the course before they set off.¹⁰ And (provided you’re pivot-ready) that’s smart. But when you’re in the effort swamp? Not so much. Because you probably know the route and destination. You just can’t be arsed to go.

At which point, setting off from anywhere, in any direction, at least sets you in motion.¹¹ And offers a clearer view of what’s ahead. Yes, it might’ve been smarter to start elsewhere. And yes, you might have to change course. But that might’ve happened anyway. And at least you’re not still stranded at shore.

Know when to fold ‘em

Look around you. What’s changed since you stumbled into the effort swamp? Does the Thing still matter? Do you still care? What might you gain by ditching it altogether? And how will you feel: like a weight’s been lifted, or like you’ve dropped the ball?

Sure, sometimes you have to grit your teeth and crack on.¹² But there’s merit in knowing when to say feck it, I’m out.¹³ And to acknowledge that, if you haven’t done it yet, you’re just not going to. At least you’ll be making a choice. And freeing up all that effort for something you might want to do instead.

Goodness, you’ve read right to the end! If you’re new here, 👋 and many thanks for subscribing. And if you’re a long-standing (suffering?) reader, hearty cheers for sticking around. 🙌

If you’d like even more from me, there’s my month of Impertinent Questions, a 30-second read direct to your inbox. Actual real people have said nice things about it like ‘just so good’ and ‘I think it’s magical’ [*blushes with gratitude*]. There’s also my small back catalogue of blogs and now slightly old-ish podcast with still excellent guests. And if you’d like to chat curious coaching or leadership learning, just hit reply. And that’s it. PHEW! See you next time!

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

---

FOOTNOTES

1 A sort of Goldilocks gone wrong, where just right is just wrong.

2 Although the April 1907 edition of Popular Mechanics notes that “the very latest Paris novelty in the vehicle line is a four-wheeled surrey in which the cart is actually before the horse.” And (lolz) that “another feature which attracts attention is the driver, who is a woman.” (Also, just so you know, the first story on that page references suicide.)

3 To everyone who shared their effort swamps with me: thank you! To everyone else: don’t judge. I reckon we’ve all got ‘em lurking somewhere.

4 This came up So Many Times, with many a website/CV/profile update stuck in swampy sludge (including my own 😬).

5 This blog is nothing if not meta. Alarmingly, it might be nothing but meta. 😬

6 I’m all for purposeful crapness, as distinct from the feckless sort in which you give good sense the slip.

7 It was quite the diatribe – but, predictably, he was brilliant in the end! 🔥🙌😂

8 Their opportunity to gain skills/kudos/recognition, rather than yours to get rid at their expense – obvs.

9 Perhaps by deploying Second Brain, or being somewhere other than your desk, or playing it for laughs to boost your creativity (or just keep you awake).

10 Not least by me! 👋

11 It’s like steerageway, a sailing thing my mate Nick told me about: you can’t steer until you’re moving.

12 One Step Forward might help if so.

13 Or to quote our Ken: you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. Apparently while performing a slow, polite striptease.

Are you an inadvertent completist?

The holidays are fast upon us. Books, sea and shaggy dogs lie almost within reach. But reader, I’ve stalled. And feel like I’m wading through porridge sans spurtle.

The diagnosis? Inadvertent completism. But hey, at least I'm in good company. Because however brilliant they are the rest of the time, most leaders succumb now and then.

But what is this inadvertent completism?

A kind of rubbish reverse alchemy, in which the more effort you make, the less value you create. 😫 And tragically, it can be contagious.

Here’s how it looked for a marvellous leader I coach. He’d just taken on a new team and was implementing a new vision and strategy. It was a massive undertaking, hugely exciting and he was rocking it.

BUT

Despite talent, experience and sheer drive, one solitary piece of work clung limpet-like to his slate. The more attention he gave it, the longer it lingered. The more he looked, the less he saw. The more clarity he attempted, the more convoluted it became.

The problem? In his laudable desire to offer something fulsome and complete, he’d inadvertently created a bloated, unwieldy palaver. And whereas ordinarily he’d use his fine judgement to:

Decide what matters, what doesn’t and which trade-offs to make
Choose when to pursue and when to pivot
Deliver excellence, not everything

Struck down with inadvertent completism, he’d:

Overshot enough in favour of comprehensive
Rethought, refined and revised as if stuck in an interminable game of Tetris¹
Generated extra work for everyone, as work begot work begot work – but infuriatingly, not value

Inadvertent completism, he lamented, is the unwanted gift that refuses to stop giving. You (and your team) continue to work harder, go deeper, do better – with inverse returns. Clarity of purpose crumbles under indistinct swathes of intention. Optimal value melts into valuing everything.² Confoundingly, more ends up as less.³ 😭

But why does this happen?

Inadvertent completism tends to descend at crunch points. During overload, for example, like my pre-holiday overwhelm. Or extreme flux, like when you try valiantly to craft clarity in an uncertain abyss.⁴ Or, perversely, when you do everything you can to hit the ground running, like my frustrated coachee.

And it’s not silliness: the leaders I work with are smart, strategic and familiar with brilliance.⁵ But almost everything has a flipside. So occasionally, in avoiding under-delivery, they lean into a metaphorical cross every t dot every i overcorrection. And in going above and beyond, end up deeper in the mire and further from the finish.

It’s no fun on the receiving end, either. Like when an otherwise wonderful exec I worked for requested just a bit more, and a line here, and perhaps a detail there on a treatment we were developing. The result was undeniably more complete. But it wasn’t better. And wasn’t commissioned anyway. 🙄

Yes, hindsight can over-simplify: there’s every chance it still would’ve bit the dust. But it might’ve been a smarter use of our time (and less infuriating) to deliver enough to fulfil the brief – and then crack on with something else.

But is there a cure?

Yes, of sorts. Get curious. Find out what works for you, and how you could adapt it for a better fit. You might, for example, give One Step Forward a whirl, or experiment with one of these.

🧐 Frame the negative

Rather than picking out what matters (usually everything), strip it back by framing the negative:

How isn’t that bit essential?
Where isn’t this thought relevant?
Why shouldn’t you address that, or that, or this?
What can’t you know?
What don’t you need to know?

Yes, there’s always nuance. And yes, it’s all probably important somewhere at some point. Just not all of it now.

🧐 Set creative constraints

An artist friend of mine often extols the beauty of boundaries when mentoring stuck colleagues. Because it might sound like (or be sold as) freedom, but delivering without parameters can be a nightmare.⁶ You often waste untold energy just wondering where to look. Her fave constraints?

Specify the scope
Specify the first, real audience (not future, potential audience)
Specify an imminent deadline for review with a specified person

Your parameters might change but, much like framing the negative, creative constraints can re-energise the process and give completism a firm kick.

🧐 Ask Impertinent Questions

Inadvertent completism won’t look the same in everyone. So get curious about when, how and where it manifests for you, and impacts on your team. The clearer the diagnosis, the faster the remedy.

When do you tend towards completism?
What are your completist triggers?
How might more doing produce less value?
Which of your expectations are unsustainable?
Where is there more solution than problem?

Plus a bonus: deploy Second Brain.⁷ It’s much easier to puncture inadvertent completism with a co-conspirator. Saying stuff out loud helps you spot where you’ve supersized the brief. Or where the brief is batshit. Plus: it’s much nicer to shed one’s excesses with companionable giggles than self-flagellation.

And to avoid inadvertent completism, that’s it! I’m off on holiday.⁸ 👋

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

---

FOOTNOTES

1 Which turns out to be actually possible, albeit in theory.

2 See also the “Everything Slide”. Awash with detail, utterly impenetrable, intriguingly common.

3 Incidentally, inadvertent completism isn’t quite the same as other personal tripwires. And since different ailments require different treatments, it’s worth checking you’re not actually suffering from high performance procrastination, perfectionism or luxuriation (stretching into the expanse for the sheer love of it).

4 On which: years ago I worked with a leader who’d inherited a restructure with another on the horizon and a potential merger. Completism was barely avoidable. One Step Forward helped her craft some clarity – but crikey, what an onslaught.

5 Which has its own issues.

6 Although marvellous for radical imagination, conjuring with impossibilities and escaping idiosyncratic shackles. Just less so when you have to produce something now.

7 Second Brain = conversational approach that helps you move forward. With a specifically selected Second Brain. A bit like coaching, a bit like mentoring, a bit like consulting. But also not quite. I meant to share a download but: inadvertent incompletism.

8 “Celebrate, holiday, celebrate.” Etc. 🥳

What can you drop?

Yeah, you’re right, probably nothing. Or nothing you haven’t ditched already. Because everything matters. And even when it doesn’t, it feels like it does.

Which would be fine if it all fit neatly into the day with no awkward spillage either side.[1] It’s just that, quite often, it doesn’t. So something needs to give. But what?

Thing is, when you’re used to doing loads it’s quite the mindgame to do less. We can chant what got you here won’t get you there in unison, but it can still feel like doing less = delivering less. When actually, it creates space to deliver more that matters.[2] And the more ingrained that desire to do more, the harder it is to strike stuff off your slate.

Which is where one in, one out comes in. When the leaders I work with are overworked we agree that if they add something to their slate, they have to drop something else. (Which can’t be themselves.) Because yes, they’re remarkable but no, they’re not infinite.

So how to decide what’s for the chop? Get curious, of course!

What are your inexplicable obligations? 🕸️

Feel obliged to do something? Can’t find a good reason for it? That’s an explicable obligation. It’s a like being caught in a web which even the spider has thought “meh”, and buggered off.3 We all have ‘em:

Things you do because you feel you ought to
Things for which there’s no discernible reason beyond that’s how we roll
Things for which there is a solid reason, but not one that justifies the effort
Things you feel you ought to do, but don’t, but then spend so much time contemplating it would’ve been faster just to do them in the first place

Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes is all you need. Like when a leader I worked with joined a team and discovered that the entire week was scheduled in conference calls.[3] 😩 No one had time to do the actual job. She thought “WTF”, politely declined everything, and started again with just two calls. And reader: stuff got done.[4]

Yep, an extreme example. But inexplicable obligations are neither unusual nor the preserve of idiots. That team had plenty of smart, forward-thinking people, but their process was bananas. Or had stealthily become bananas.[5] That’s part of the problem with inexplicable obligations. They’re often so well absorbed into the bloodstream of process (yours, the organisation’s) that they barely register. So your energy continues to be sucked up by tasks that don’t pull their weight.

What to do? A timely WTF can help. Or just look at your slate and get curious:

Why should you do this now?
According to whom?
Does the end justify the means?
What or who does that end serve?

You’ll probably have solid, indisputable reasons for most stuff. But there’ll almost certainly be something you can’t quite pin down. For which your reasons are vague. Or, if you’re honest, a bit suspect. This is the stuff to inspect up close. Does it pull its weight? Or is it an explicable obligation that deserves to be ditched?[6]

Who is this for?

Maybe you did all of that, and everything’s still on your slate. Maybe, while asking those questions, you realised there was stuff missing from your slate so now you’ve even more to do. 😖

In which case, ask yourself: who is this for? Who benefits from it – and in whose eyes? Do your beneficiaries value their apparent good fortune? Or do they [deep breath] not actually care? If they do care, should they own the task instead? Perhaps because they’re more invested in it. Or perhaps because they value the outcome but need to understand what goes into it. And if they really don’t care then, well, should you?

Years ago when I worked at… no actually, I’ll keep that to myself. When I worked at [ahem, cough] a lovely colleague with a firm belief in transparency would keep us in the loop. With absolutely bloody everything. Cue REAMS of e-mails, with everyone ‘cc’ed.[7] And the thing is, we needed to know almost none of it. My heart still sinks at the recollection.

My colleague wasn’t doing this to entertain himself. He did it because he thought we valued it. He didn’t check that assumption, and we didn’t disabuse him of it. It just became an inexplicable obligation: for him to overload us, and for us to wade (resentfully) through the overload.

Of course some stuff is worth doing even though it seems unappreciated. But sometimes no one benefits, or not enough to justify the effort. So again, look at who benefits from any given task. Find out: ask people if that benefit’s real or imagined, and for whom. Then decide whether it deserves its place on your slate, or someone else’s – or, frankly, no one’s.

A note of caution.[8] You might conclude that something is of benefit, and could be done by someone else, but that you’ll do it faster. You might be bang on. But in itself that’s not a reason to hold on to it. You’re not the only person who deserves to build that expertise. Or to learn from a few cock ups. And besides, if you keep doing stuff that doesn’t belong to you, you’ll be forever squeezing the stuff that does.

Where are your ghosts? 👻

Not that sort. I mean the “legacy” projects, ideas, even full blown products that still lurk in your calendar. It’s often stuff you conceived and nurtured and walked through fire to get up and running. Stuff that had meaning, and purpose. Perhaps it even made you who you were. But it isn’t relevant to who you are now. And, moreover, to who you might become.

Like wot, though?

Sometimes you start something, it runs its course, and then lingers. A mate of mine used to run ‘un-office hours’. And continued to do so long after it’d stopped being useful to him. There it was in his calendar, week in, week out, blocking up time he could be using elsewhere. He ended up ignoring it, or working round it, but it was still occupying space in the back of his mind. Until he finally ditched it. Phew.

Or sometimes you build something with huge potential – that’s never quite reached. One leader told me about an innovation project she’d worked on that could’ve been game-changingly brilliant. If people had wanted it. They didn’t. But the whole team was so invested they wouldn’t let it die. Thing is, I get that. Sometimes you do have to bide your time. Sometimes you do need to show grit and determination. And sometimes you just have to let it go so you can do something better instead.

FWIW, I think it’s bloody hard to give stuff up. Even more so if it once meant a lot to you. Closing my beloved choir seven years ago felt like exactly the right decision at the right time. But it was still a proper wrench. Likewise, an entrepreneur I know recently handed on the book group he founded 12 years ago. Then, it had been his escape from the madness of starting and scaling a new business. Now it was sucking the joy out of reading.

Some ghosts are easy to spot. A quick squiz at your calendar and they whack you in the face. Others are more resistant to daylight, lingering in the uncertain realms of ‘but’ and ‘maybe’ and ‘if’. Be brave. Slip on your proton pack and fire off some impertinent questions. After all, what have you got to lose? More to the point, what can’t you afford to keep?

🤔 Get curious about what you can drop with 5 impertinent questions

It’s not always easy to start, but impertinent questions can help. Download ‘em here. Try applying them to your schedule over the next fortnight, and run experiments on your assumptions. What actually happens when you drop, delegate or ditch altogether? Drop me a line and let me know! (I love hearing from you, I’m nosy. Etc.)

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

---

[1] And we’re off with the caveats! First up: maybe it does fit neatly. Maybe you thrive on the no-distinction between work and not-work. Actually, isn’t that a Gen Z trend, what with the whole digital nomad thing? Or are we just telling them it’s something they aspire to in the hope they don’t notice that being a nomad is your only option when you can’t afford the rent?

[2] Because, for example, it’s of higher value to the business. Or because it’s more relevant to your team. Or because it makes your heart sing.

[3] This was well before Zoom, so they were old skool calls down a scratchy phone line. Fun times. 😭

[4] Although not everyone was happy about it. Changing stuff, and particularly dropping stuff, can ruffle feathers. But that’s not a reason not to do it. Just don’t be a dick for the sake of it.

[5] Stealthy bananas! 🤣 Anyone? No? Just me then. 😳

[6] Ooh! I'm going to start something called The Ditchery. A repository of stuff that bites the dust. Send me yours!

[7] It wasn’t everyone. It was about five people. It just felt like everyone, especially when we all felt obliged to reply and add to the inbox madness.

[8] Or rather, another note. Everything I write is drenched in caution ­– I bloody love a caveat!

Where could you be more crap?

Are you good at life? Could you be better? I’ve devoted hours to this elusive goal. Better at mindfulness. Better at writing newsletters. Better at being… better.[1]

Being better is, basically, leadership law:

Continuous learning
Executing
Innovating
Everything-ing

Even being better at failing. (Yep, apparently it is possible to fail at failure.)

Isn’t it good? Well yeah, maybe. But God, it’s exhausting. So much effort goes into being better. When do you get to be crap? I don’t mean feeling you’ve been a bit crap. Or that you haven’t done your best. I mean being crap on purpose.[2]

But… why would you? 🤯

Well, partly because there’s something liberating about not even intending to be great. And partly because, however marvellous you are, you won’t always add value.[3]

But also because not everything matters. At least not in the same way to the same extent at the same time. And figuring out what doesn’t matter leaves you more room for what does.

Also, whisper it, sometimes you just will be… a bit crap. 😱 So, to the extent that you can, you might as well be crap on purpose. Selectively, deliberately, and where your brilliant brain won’t make a difference.

Hang on a minute, what does that even mean?

Good question. What does being crap mean?

Is the outcome subpar?
Is the outcome fine but the expectation sky high?
Is the process less effort?

These are different things. They require a different response. And they can unfold in confounding ways. Fantasy expectation can obfuscate real need. Un-crap effort can produce a crap outcome.[4] And less effort can improve an outcome.[5]

And then, of course, there are degrees of crap. Sometimes more is more; sometimes it’s just meh. Sometimes the quality of attention is the difference between brilliance and balls-up.

But we often lump it together under one crap umbrella. Which isn’t helpful. So get curious instead. What does being crap mean in this context? What does it mean to you? What does it mean to someone else?[6] And: why?

It’s worth running a few experiments to figure this out. To gauge what being purposefully crap feels like. To sensitise yourself to its various qualities. And to find out where and how you could (or shouldn’t) be more crap. Here are three places you might start.

1. Where do you excel?

Excellence is satisfying. It makes us feel valuable.[7] Which makes excessive effort so enticing. But beyond a certain point, does being even more excellent make a difference? Does it serve you? Does it reduce your attention for other stuff? Could less effort in the process – being “a bit crap” – free you up elsewhere?

Run some experiments where you excel. Which bits of a task require your brilliance? Which just need competence? Where could you give less – perhaps in thinking time, detail or extras? What actually makes the difference? Your less will probably still turn out to be more.[8]

Get curious, too, about what’s actually valued. You might discover your extra effort isn’t. Or gets in the way. Which can be annoying, and disheartening, and more fool them, etc. But it’s also useful data in deciding what deserves best-brain. And what doesn’t.

2. Where do you secretly fear crapness?

Enough of excellence. Where do you give too much for fear of being not enough? What do you fear might be revealed without such diligence?

Fear might be essential, even enjoyable. But it also provokes all manner of peculiarities. Like going the extra fifty miles instead of one. Or ploughing in hours of thought where two would do.[9] Because if you didn’t, who knows what might emerge? 😬

Put your secret crappiness to the test. What happens if you ease off a bit? Where can you ease off? Where do you need to make more effort? What’s the sweet spot between underdone and overblown? Or between your fear-filled expectation and actual need?[10] And does your fantasyland perception of "crap" baffle everyone else?

3. Where does it just not matter?

The day other day, my (very patient) niece gave her (not very patient) aunt a cello lesson. Said aunt had always assumed an affinity with the cello. Sure, there’d be the odd duff note. And third position might be a stretch. No matter. She’d be singing out Elgar’s Cello Concerto in no time.

Reader, it’s true. I was singing the concerto in no time. I just wasn’t playing it. Turns out I find the cello both quite tricky and verrrrry painful.[11] I wasn’t just a bit crap. I was utterly crap. I couldn’t trap the strings. I played all over the bridge. I could barely hold the bow.

BUT

It was really fun! Because none of it mattered. Who cares if I suck at cello?[12] Not even me, despite my massive ego.

The thing about my job, and probably yours, is that there’s not much opportunity to be overtly crap. To be deliciously, delightfully rubbish. To revel in hilarious, abject failure precisely because it doesn’t matter. To care about process instead of outcome and notice how that feels. That’s hard in the whirl of work.

Which is a shame. Because actually, being deliberately crap is incredibly freeing. Sure, you might learn something. You might even discover a new talent.[13] But that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter. Literally no one cares, including you. Phew.

So again: get curious. What does being crap mean, and when, and why? Where is best-brain not required? When is effort driven by fear? How can you trade less effort on what doesn’t matter for more on what does? Where does being crap free your soul? 🥳

This is how to be more crap.[14] Not blithely and wholesale. But discretely, purposefully and, with a spot of luck, hilariously. So go on, kick up a stink! 👋

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

---

 [1] Perhaps I should apply for BBC Director of Better.

[2] I’m currently in hostage negotiations with the “delivery” “service” Yodel, which has hijacked my parcel. Serious commitment to ‘be more crap’, there.

[3] And might make it worse. By redirecting attention towards you. Or asking redundant questions. Or squashing someone else’s opportunity. Or…

[4] I know, so unfair.

[5] As above.

[6] Like this morning, when a friend with an actual degree in maths described himself as ‘a crap mathematician’. 🙄

[7] And no wonder. More effort + more talent = better results is a very sticky notion. And makes more talent + tiny effort = same results seem terribly unfair. Although the hard work + talent = success equation collapses anyway because it’s so often trumped by privilege = success. Which isn’t to suggest you can’t be talented and hard-working and privileged (👋). Or a privileged distaster. But you won’t have to be as talented or as hard working to get further than someone with less privilege. Tricky, but true.

[8] Just don’t be a wally.

[9] Fear also provokes avoidance. On which: this.

[10] Years ago I spent fear-stained hours perfecting practice tracks for my choir. Just in case they weren’t (tr: I wasn’t) quite good enough. Pointlessly, as it turned out: they only ever got a brief, half-arsed listen anyway. So now they’re crap. I record one improvised version, and that’s it. Doing them quickly and crappily has saved me buckets of time. And: no one cares! 🤦‍♀️ Plus I preserve my energy for rehearsals, which is where my best brain really matters. (And where I change everything anyway.)

[11] Tragically, my callous heart hasn’t extended to callused fingers.

[12] Possibly the neighbours.

[13] I haven’t. But my kind niece has agreed to another lesson. I have agreed to be better behaved and less impatient. Unclear which will transpire.

[14] Has this post become unintentionally meta? 😬

How could you be less rush, more roll?

The other day a colleague told me they weren’t going to rush. Not only then, but ever. Why? They’ve spent their life rushing. To work! In work! From work! At home! With friends! All rush. 😫

So they’ve decided not to. Time for a micro-task? Leave it. Running late? Saunter on. Caught in a queue? Meh.

Good, no? Except… the whole thing made me feel incredibly antsy.[1] Until I realised that actually, they’d end up more efficient by not rushing. Multitasking = multifail. Etc.[2] And even if they weren’t more efficient they’d probably be more mindful. Or something. Phew, order restored.

Their take on my insight?

🙄

I’d missed the point. Not rushing wasn’t a sneaky scheme to cheat productivity. Or be an indefinably better person. It was just what it was: not rushing. The end. 🤯

And hey, that makes sense. Consider the lilies of the fields…[3] Etc. But then what? I love an intellectualised concept, but what does it mean in practice? Where’s the line between not-rushing and not-getting-on? Or between being fast and being rushed? How can you tell one from the other? And how do you cope without the sweat-drenched, brain-focused WHOOSH! of a deadline?

What’s the rush?

Let’s step back a bit. Why are you rushing in the first place? I'm not suggesting you channel your inner sloth. Just get curious. What is the consequence of not racing ahead? Is that really true? Does it matter?[4] Fan of nuance that I am, I’d venture that it probably depends.[5] Some things are time-bound. I’d still rather catch the train than not, for example. So there’s that.

But lots of things don’t have inherent so much as imposed deadlines. “I’ll get this done by x time, so I can fit in y before I do z. And then tomorrow I can crack on with a.” But again, why? What’s lost if you don’t? What’s gained if you do?

Ugh. Such boring, obvious, coachy questions. 🙄 And honestly, who has time to live their life in constant ponder?[6][7] But actually, I don’t think you always need to answer those questions – so much as ask them. It’s a sort of mental intervention: pausing the rush in your mind to rush a bit less in practice. If nothing else, it gives you a bit of choice: rush, or don’t. Just make sure you own what you choose.[8]

What do you rush?

A funny thing: the leaders I work with don’t rush everything. Most of them won’t rush strategic decisions. Or budget forecasts. Or tricky conversations with the team. Etc.

But most of those leaders will rush themselves. How? Sometimes by rushing the stuff that makes life calmer. Like time to decompress after one of those tricky chats. Or by squeezing the stuff they love so there's more time for stuff they don't.[9] Which is odd, really. Because who has time to dispense with joy?

If you are going to rush, you might as well rush everything equally. Except you probably won’t. So why do you rush some things and not others? And what about the reverse: what do you savour, for good or ill? If you audited this day, would you be content with what was rushed, or not, or savoured?

What’s your post-rush recovery time?

We don’t really think about this mid-rush, but rushing isn’t finite. The reason to rush might end with the deadline, but the effect of rushing tends to hang around. And hey, that’s not necessarily bad. It might be a sense of delicious triumph, of having made it against the odds. In which case: hurrah for you! 🙌

But mostly, I reckon it’s just tiring. Because it’s actually quite hard to pull your attention away from the deadline that's been consuming your energies. Or to feel calm, or present, or ready for the next thing. At least for a while.

What if you added up the rush time plus the recovery time? Would you end up in the same place as if you hadn’t rushed? My strong hunch is: yes. Not always, and not for everyone. But often enough to give one pause.

Want the whoosh without the weep?

Maybe you need a deadline to channel your inner brilliance. Maybe, like me, you actually enjoy that glorious sprint to the finish. In which case, might I commend One Step Forward to chunk the madness? That way, when the deadline looms you can hurtle on with the hard yards done.[10] And focus more (not entirely) on being your brilliant self. And less (not entirely) on panic-ploughing through the mud. It’s not about trying to turn yourself into someone who doesn’t respond to deadlines. It is about giving yourself the best chance to be you. Slowly, slowly, catchy bum rub.[11]

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[1] I hate being late. But I love other rush-related stuff that I won’t mention in case I sound like a twat.

[2] Also, the notion that women are brilliant at multitasking is one of the most insidious excuses for the quantities of unpaid labour dumped on them. Everyone’s shit at multitasking. And, like all things patriarchy, it does a disservice to men as well as women.

[3] “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:28, The Bible: King James Version)

[4] These are two of the most helpful questions you can ask, imho. A question (or two) for all seasons.

[5] I imagine there are examples where being in a rush is preferable to being quick. I just can’t think what they might be. CPR came to mind, but even that needs to be steady rather than racy – roughly 2 compressions per second, according to the British Heart Foundation. Btw, they offer free CRP training on your phone or tablet. It takes just 15 minutes. It could save a life.

[6] Which is why it’s much more sensible to be consistently curious. Constant anything is pretty exhausting.

[7] Then again, who has time not to?

[8] It’s much more powerful to own your own decisions than to pretend they’re someone else’s. You’ll come across as clearer in yourself, as well as in your motivations. Which also means colleagues (or friends and family) are more likely to know where they are with you.

[9] Is all this selective rushing because they’re kinder to other people than to themselves? It’s a coaching question so tremendously clichéd I hesitate to commit it to print. But lots of leaders I know really wouldn’t treat their teams the way they treat themselves. Which is intriguing for all sorts of reasons. Do they consider themselves more able than their teams? Or more deserving of mistreatment? Discuss.

[10] I should add that lots of my clients use One Step Forward to avoid running up against deadlines altogether. And that’s cool too.

[11] I love this phrase, which I think was born of a malapropism-cum-mondegreen. You’d have to ask its originators, those marvellous folks at Advai, for the full explanation. It is entirely irrelevant to what they do (clever things that stress-test AI). But a phrase like this deserves to be out in the world!