Do you get frustrated with all the peppy, saccharine advice out there which tries to convince you that you are a wonderful person just as you are and you should accept yourself without self-recrimination? Do you find it just a tad* hard to accept?

(*sarcasm alert)

Yeah, me too.

This post was sparked by Jennifer Louden (whom I am not accusing of being saccharine, by the way—she’s the real deal) and her Declaration of Freedom from Self-Improvement which she posted today to kick off a week on this theme on her blog.

I signed the declaration by leaving a comment, but it made me think about how easy it is to fall into empty-words, positive-thinking rhetoric and say, “Yes! Non-judgmental self-acceptance, what a great idea! I stand behind it completely!” and then go about your life as usual, vs. really trying to practice it.

And the ironic thing here is that trying to practice it can turn into the very self-improvement self-tyranny you’re attempting to unlearn. (“Damn it! I’m failing at unconditionally accepting myself!”)

That’s a fine line to walk, so I thought I’d share some thoughts on what has helped me to walk it.

Today’s post is about one of the most important attitude adjustments you can make toward overcoming what I am hereby naming “Superhero Syndrome.” (Definitely more to come on that!) I will follow up soon in another post with a list of specific techniques I’ve used.

So . . . how can you move past feeling that the pep talks (from others and from yourself) about how “you’re perfectly fine as you are” are empty positive-thinking platitudes? How can you start believing them?

Realize that accepting yourself as you are now is NOT the same thing as becoming complacent and lazy.

If you already set high (maybe even unreasonably high) standards for yourself, you will not suddenly turn into a person who lets things slide, produces shoddy results, and stops working on yourself. It’s simply not in your nature. You will continue to do your best, but if you can uncouple those efforts from the belief that they define your worth as a human being, you’ll gradually be able to relax into an acceptance what you really are—an amazing work in progress.

This is not easy, but it’s well worth the effort. Personally, I get there by:

• Self-talk. I remind myself over and over again that the essence of me is more than the sum of my actions and how successful I think they are.
• Self-observation. When I act as if the above concept is true, I notice that I feel more peaceful and happy. The more I notice that I do not, in fact, become lazy and complacent when I let go of my attempt to be 100% perfect at everything, the more I build up evidence that I’m not going to turn into an unmotivated lump.

One important thing to keep in mind here is that if you’ve been riding yourself into the ground for a long time, once you begin to realize that you can stop trying so hard all the time you may find yourself sleeping a lot. Or vegging out and staring at walls or the television. Or reading novels. Or playing lots of computer games. Or whatever you do to relax and unplug.

This is fine. You are not becoming a lethargic slob. You are catching up on much-needed rest and rejuvenation, which you may have been denying yourself for years or even decades.

When I finally admitted that I needed to slow down and nurture myself, I slept for 10 hours or more per night for four straight months, with many daytime naps on weekends. And when I came out the other side, I had more energy and enthusiasm for life than I’d felt in many years. I was able to do more.

Go easy on yourself. Don’t be like the saying on one of my all-time favorite t-shirts.

And stay tuned. There’s more to come on this reeeeeeally important topic.

Warning: The following article describes a brutal act of clutter-clearing in which a number of inanimate objects are heartlessly disposed of. It may not be suitable for sensitive readers. Proceed at your own risk.

I’ve never been a packrat. By most people’s standards, I live quite simply and don’t have a lot of “stuff.” I have learned, though, that a lot of the material I do accumulate is like sea wrack, washed up against the shores of my living space by the waves of projects I’ve started and not completed.

Oh, I’ve tried to complete them—most of them, anyway. Usually by organizing the heck out of them first. I’ve kept lists of projects. I’ve whittled those projects down to bite-sized tasks, devised methods to streamline and schedule those tasks, and created whole systems to track my progress so that I could have the joy of crossing things off my to-do list. I’ve spent hours, days and weeks blasting through those to-do lists like dynamite in an all-out effort to finish as many projects and tasks as quickly I could, so that I could have the simple, uncluttered life I crave.

It never, ever occurred to me that I could simplify my life by eliminating things without finishing them.

In late 2001 I fulfilled a long-held dream and began to learn to play the Indian tabla drums. I took lessons for five years from one of the world’s acknowledged best tabla players, Pandit Swapan Chaudhuri. I adored the classes, and Swapanji is a wonderful, patient and gently humorous teacher whom I miss deeply . . . because I haven’t taken lessons now for over two years.

It broke my heart, but I had to stop for my own benefit. I took the classes far too seriously, and I felt such a sense of obligation that the lessons became more of a chore than anything else. I was feeling enormous stress over the fact that I couldn’t practice as much as I wanted to, and I thought I wasn’t doing justice to either the money I was spending on the classes or, even more important to me, the beautiful musical tradition of the tablas.

At the end of it all (and I still choke up just writing that), I was left with five years’ worth of cassette tapes. Tapes? Yes, because we learned so much so quickly each week that Swapanji allowed us to record the classes. I would come home from class, play through the tape, write down the new composition we’d learned, and refer to it as I practiced throughout the week or refreshed my memory of it later.

These tapes held pure gold. They contained the teachings of a living legend, instructing very small groups of students in a tiny room. Swapanji played each new composition for us. He gave us individual attention and advice. He gave encouragement, sometimes talked about the history of the tablas, and often told funny stories.

But 90% of the tapes were filled with us students, ineptly tapping and pounding away as we attempted to stuff each new kaida, rela, tukra and chakradhar into our short-term memories. This was nothing I would ever want to listen to again.

Once I’d finish transcribing each week’s tape into my permanent notes, I’d save it with the intention of extracting the 10% of the material with real value for future reference. So when I stopped taking classes, I had a gigantic box filled with five years’ worth of cassettes. I consoled myself with the thought that since I was (*sniffle*) no longer learning anything new, I would finally have time to deal with them all.

It was an Enormous Project. Just getting the (sometimes undated) tapes into chronological order took me a long time. The next step was to listen to roughly 200-250 hours of class tapes through an analog-to-digital converter, and sift through the dirt of the vast, useless majority of the recordings to find the tiny nuggets of gold where Swapanji was actually talking and teaching. I would then need to save those smaller files, date-label them, catalog their contents, and burn them to CD for safekeeping.

I really thought I could do it. In my spare time, outside of my full-time job and my many other projects and commitments. I expected myself to. This unfinished project weighed on my consciousness for two full years. All unfinished things have an oppressive weight to them, but this one was extra-heavy. After all, those tapes were priceless! They deserved to be saved, if not for me, then for posterity!

But slowly I realized that posterity didn’t much care. That other people took these classes, too. That I wasn’t personally responsible for being the caretaker of the material I’d learned. That Swapanji had been recorded—professionally—hundreds of times over the decades.

That I really, truly didn’t have to do this project at all. Ever.

So . . . I threw away the box.

Then I cried.

And then I was swept with the most profound feeling of relief I’d felt in years.

How odd that my biggest lesson came when I stopped taking classes.

(image courtesy of ex novo)

In the comments section of my last blog post, Barbara raised the question, “Why do I rebel against my own to-do lists?” That sparked a lot of thinking for me. So now I’ve got a series of posts about to-do lists . . . yep, you’ve got it. On my to-do list.

Why do we even use to-do lists, anyway? What’s in it for us other than stress because we never seem to cross enough things off of them? Because when they work, to-do lists actually help us relax. Yes, that’s right. Relax.

“Huh?” you say. (That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re so articulate.)

Allow me to explain. Oh, and to be clear, I’m using “to-do list” as a catch-all term. For you it might mean anything from a hastily scrawled sticky note to a complex, category-driven application on your computer or PDA. Whatever works for you. (Or doesn’t work, as the case may be—don’t worry, we’ll get to that in future posts.)

A to-do list is really nothing more than an outboard brain.

Early humans simply didn’t need them. Imagine our cave-dwelling ancestors:

1. Hunt animals.
2. Gather plants.
3. Gather wood, feed fire.
4. Cook.
5. Eat.
6. Mate.
7. Repeat.

The absurdity is clear. And it’s not just the fact that leaves and charred twigs didn’t make very durable personal planners, either. Our ancestors knew what to do because it was all about survival—what was necessary was also pretty darn obvious.

Ironically, though their lives were physically demanding and dangerous, hunter-gatherer societies also spent far less time fulfilling their basic needs than we do.

Even later agricultural societies had more leisure time. Yes, people had to work long, back-breaking hours during crucial periods such as planting and harvesting. But for most of the year, they could finish up work in the fields and kick back with jars of mead at the end of the day, telling stories around the hearth fire. There was no, “Sorry, honey, the feudal lord asked me to work late again tonight, and on the way home I need to get gas for the mule and pick up your doublet and hose from the dry cleaner. Can you make sure little Sigismund gets to spear-throwing practice on time?”

No, it’s only our modern lives that have become this complex, and overrun with demands on our time that often feel completely overwhelming. To deal with it all, we need to find external ways to capture our commitments, because our brains simply aren’t wired to hold all that information and feed it to us as we require it. Our ancestors didn’t need it, so we didn’t evolve that way. And biological evolution lags so far behind technological evolution that we needed to call in reinforcements.

Thus, the humble to-do list was born. (It has grown up to become far less humble in its adolescence, like most teenagers, but that’s a story for another day.)

By writing down the things you need to accomplish, and by when, you free your mind from what author and productivity expert David Allen calls “open loops.” Even if you’re not aware of it every moment, these open loops sap your energy and concentration simply by remaining undone, because at some level you’re aware of all that incompleteness hanging over your head.

Then, if you don’t find some way of recording these open loops outside your own gray matter, not only do you feel anxious about all of your undone tasks, you’re also anxious (again, this may not be fully conscious) that you might forget about them. It’s a double-whammy of worry.

Keeping a to-do list—and keeping it more or less current—eliminates the second of those two worries. Unfortunately for those of us who are planner and system addicts, Writing it All Down (or Getting it All Entered) is not synonymous with Getting it All Accomplished. (“What? You mean I bought this gorgeous new Franklin Covey planner in rich buttery nut-brown leather with a personalized monogram, and filled in all my calendar items and things to do, and it’s not going to do them for me??? I want my money back!”)

Sorry, you still have to do the things yourself. But getting some clarity around what those things are, and getting them out of your head and onto a list, gives you an incredible feeling of relief. Sometimes you feel overwhelmed with everything you think you have to do, and when you see it all written out in ink or pixels, you realize there’s less of it than you thought.

Or that the truly urgent stuff is doable, and the rest of can be deferred for a while with no harm.

Or that what you thought was a huge, icky, complicated project actually has a set of steps you can take in an obvious and logical order.

Or that everything looks a bit more manageable than you were anticipating.

Or that there are things you really, truly don’t have to do. Now, and maybe ever.

Or a combination of all of these. Whatever you discover, somehow just being able to see it in written form helps you wrap your mind around it all. And the sense of relief is amazing.

Want to try it?

Throughout this series of posts, I’ll offer some concrete, practical suggestions that will let you feel the relief that comes from having an Outboard Brain of some sort. Give them a test drive and let me know what works for you, what doesn’t, whether you have any questions, etc. As always, I’d like to make this a real conversation, not just me doing all the talking . . . uh, writing.

So your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to do a brain dump. You can do this in one of two ways, though I recommend the second one.

Way #1: Use a small notebook.

Way #2: Use a stack of index cards.

I recommend the index cards, because while this exercise is only about capturing your thoughts, next time we’ll deal with categorizing them. And that’s easier to do with a stack of cards you can shuffle around than a list you can’t. (Helpful hint and Alternate Way #2: When I did this recently, I cut some blank cardstock down to the size of business cards, wrapped a rubber band around them, and had a very portable working Outboard Brain.)

Now, take 15 minutes or so when you can be undistracted. Transfer the contents of any current to-do lists to your new TOB (Temporary Outboard Brain). Don’t forget that receipt from lunch where you jotted down the errands you want to run this weekend, the sticky notes hanging precariously from the bottom of your computer, and any other spots where pesky to-dos like to hide.

Then, do a brain-dump from scratch, as much as you can think of off the top of your head. What’s in your short-term memory because you weren’t near your computer or Blackberry or a notepad when you thought of it? What has come up in the last few hours that you haven’t written down anywhere but want to remember?

Don’t worry about being complete—that’s why you are going to carry your TOB and a writing utensil with you everywhere you go for the next several days. Here’s where the magic happens. Because you have it with you, every time you think of something you need or want to do, add it to the TOB right then and there.*

*Exceptions include while driving, operating dangerous machinery, or in the middle of a heated discussion or amorous encounter.

At first, you may find yourself pausing to jot things down a lot. That’s okay. The flood will slow down and eventually become a trickle. That’s when you’ll know you’re essentially done with your brain dump. Also, don’t worry about keeping your cards or notebook pretty. This is temporary, and doesn’t need to be a work of art. In fact, you might use this as practice in allowing things to be slightly messy!

The next post in this series will talk about what to do with all the to-dos you will have corralled by then. Until then, keep collecting, and trust that even though it’s not yet organized into a Holy and Sacred System, you will still have the most important things at the forefront of your mind. Maybe even the forefront of your notebook (use a highlighter or a special symbol in the margin for urgent items) or card deck (clip the urgent stuff in front).

Meanwhile, savor the feeling of release as you mentally let go and entrust your commitments to something outside of you. Ahhhh . . . feels great, doesn’t it?

I’m a productivity geek and a systems gal. Lock me in a Franklin Covey store, give me free access to all the personal planning paraphernalia there, and I’m in heaven.

I am also a certified master of the to-do list. Hand me twenty pages of tasks, projects and agenda items, and I can slice ‘em and dice ‘em any way you please. I’ve done this with my own lists hundreds of times.

My only problem seems to be with doing the stuff on them.

Even as a child, I carried with me a vague sense of unease about all the things I wanted to do but wasn’t getting around to. (How early does Perfectionitis nauseus set in, anyway? Sheesh.)

Then I learned to make lists. At first they were very simple: Homework. Things to Do. Write it down, do it, cross it off.

Ohhh, yes. The flesh-tingling thrill of crossing things off. There’s no high quite like it. The only thing is, it’s kind of like the old joke about the guy who keeps beating his head against the wall because it feels so good when he stops. You have to keep adding to the lists in order to have more items to cross out.

At first this was no problem. As a classic overachiever, I really was able to plow through many, many things quickly and well. I was invariably praised for this, so that pattern was reinforced strongly. Work hard, earn praise, feel worthy. Want more praise and feelings of self-worth? Work harder.

I became a human doing instead of a human being.

Then came the myriad ways to keep track of it all. I’m low-tech by choice, so I don’t go in for all the electronic gadgetry, but my personal planner addiction began the day I discovered existence of the Day Runner almost two decades ago.

No system has worked for me consistently, though. Even when they gently nudge me into methods of prioritization (ABC-123, context lists, or what have you), I’m still overwhelmed by my own lists because I can’t discriminate. I feel that if I think of it, I have to do it, and that I’m perpetually falling behind in a race I can’t win.

Over the past couple of years, an internal war has raged within me between my Inner Drill Sergeant, who sounds like Anthony Robbins on speed, and my slowly-emerging Self-Nurturer, who tells me that if I don’t learn to ease up and take better care myself, I may very well die. (As in, you know, sooner than I’m meant to.)

Lately the war seems to be escalating. I think it’s because my Self-Nurturer is finally starting to make some solid inroads into my consciousness. The Drill Sergeant is feeling seriously threatened. And I’m sitting in between them, trying to broker a peace and convince myself I’m not developing a split personality.

But some helpful realizations have emerged, too. One of the best is . . .

The power of stopping. Really stopping.

Being who I am, I’ve always seen relaxation, meditation, visualization, and other forms of stress release as just more items for the to-do list. Which automatically brings up resistance, because I already have far too much on the list already. (How am I supposed to fit a conscious relaxation session in between getting home from work, feeding the cats, having something for dinner, running that load of laundry I’ve been putting off for two days, taking a walk to get some fresh air and exercise, working on the five small tasks and two major projects I’ve decided I need to take care of tonight, answering a few time-sensitive e-mails, and taking a shower before collapsing into bed so I can wake up to another overwhelming tomorrow?)

When methods of de-stressing become just another series of items to check off my lists, I’ve learned I’m never going to get around to them.

But I’ve discovered that when I allow myself to truly stop—to rest for a while because my body, mind and spirit want it, not because it’s an agenda item to be ticked off—I do experience genuine relief.

It’s a subtle distinction, and I’m not even sure I’m expressing it adequately.

My habitual way feels more like:

“Get home from work—check. Feed cats—check. Go upstairs and sit on bed; close eyes and do creative visualization for 15 minutes—check. Start load of laundry—check.”

My new way, which isn’t a solid habit yet but which I’m achieving more often now, feels like:

“Hi there, cats! Can I hang out with you while you eat? **Scritch, scritch** (((PURRRRRR))). Okay, upstairs. Stretching out on my bed because it was a demanding day at the office . . . ahh, yes. This floating in between awakeness and a slight doze feels wonderful. General sense of time passing, but no looking at the clock. >>>really stopping everything; a feeling of timelessness<<< Mmm, now I feel ready to engage with the world again. Wow! Look—it’s only been 20 minutes! Better go start that laundry . . .”

Gentler, Nicer. More peaceful. When I can actually manage this type of thing.

I’d be lying if I said I’m getting as many things done this way, but you know what? I’m getting all the important things done.

With jottings to myself scratched on sticky notes, more often than with my latest “productivity system.”

Though I did walk past the Franklin Covey store at lunch yesterday . . .

I suspect the war isn’t over yet.

First of all, a huge thank you! to the folks over at Copyblogger, who posted my guest post about “horrible” blog posts today.

And a hearty hail-and-well-met to anyone who has found my blog via that post. Welcome to you! )

The post has received many positive comments so far, indicating that it has struck a nerve. That’s very gratifying to me. Several people have even written things like, “Wow, I feel vindicated. Now I’m going to go write something horrible!”

Well, I’d like to invite you to go ahead and do so. And then if you’d like, you can post the results here.

You can either link to what you’ve written via a comment below, or even write something directly in the comments if it’s not so long that it will make scrolling difficult.

The only rules?

1. Nothing profane, deliberately insulting, or in general bad taste, please.
2. No judgment. Let’s all acknowledge that posting is scary, and cheer on anyone who takes a chance and shares what she or he has written publicly.

So . . . no praise or harsh words about any of the content, please. Just support for the act of writing and publishing itself.

Wahey! Let’s do this thing!!!

“Here. You might like to write about this on your blog.” A wink, a jaunty tip of his imaginary hat, and my friend was gone. In my hand was a tiny book weighing just a few ounces, entitled The Underachiever’s Manifesto.

My friend is known for his sense of humor, but then again, as a classic overachiever, maybe there was something beneficial in there for me. I opened the book.

And closed it less than an hour later. Like I said, it’s a very slim volume. The author would probably say that it’s exactly as long as necessary, and not a word longer.

It left me . . . disturbed. Because it’s a funny book, but in the way that Dilbert cartoons are funny, being only slight exaggerations (hmm, perhaps I’m being too charitable there) on work environments that really do exist.

Take, for example, the “Ten Principles of Underachievement.” I particularly like #3 – Expectations lead to misery. Author Ray Bennett writes:

It would be nice to believe that setting the bar high always helps, but it doesn’t. Most people start on an exercise program looking for great improvement, only to quit out of disappointment. If only they had learned to avoid expectations . . .

Ouch. Nail hit squarely on the head.

He also talks about the law of diminishing returns. In any undertaking, there comes a point where even if the spirit is willing, the flesh is gasping for rest. The mind goes into lockdown from sheer overload. At that point, you start getting less and less accomplished for every bit of extra effort you apply. Continuing to push will result in burnout, injury, or worse.

Slow down, Bennett says. Lower the bar. Good enough is good enough.

Of course, my Inner Drill Sergeant scoffs at this notion. “Are you insane, woman? How can you respect yourself if you deliberately do less than you’re capable of?”

I’m getting better at scoffing right back. Some days I can look my Drill Sergeant right in the face and say, “You’re only one part of me, and I don’t have to listen to you all the time anymore.”

Other days I still snap a smart salute, spin on my heel, and march away to do whatever the Sergeant has told me to. But at least when that happens, I’m getting better at noticing it. On good days, I even refrain from judging myself for it.

It takes a long time to break a pattern this entrenched. Compassion for myself seems like a good way to go.

So I’m experimenting with doing less. Deliberately. Just a little, here and there.

• Not always being the first to volunteer whenever a task comes up at work, because after more than three years on the job, I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m proving what a good worker I am every single day.
• Not balancing my checkbook for the first time in my life. (Miraculously, I’ve survived this.)
• Not trying to cook (which usually ends up as a late-night run for junk food), but allowing myself to order takeout instead.
• Not keeping up with my elaborate personal planning system; just writing down brief to-do lists on Post-It notes as they occur to me.

The Underachiever’s Manifesto is a lopsided little treatise. It doesn’t take into account that there are some situations in which you really do need to strive for perfection—for instance, I don’t think I’d hand the book to an air traffic controller just going on-shift.

I also don’t believe that pushing yourself is always a bad thing. I’m proud that I’ve run three marathons, for instance, and I never would have accomplished that without going way out of my comfort zone. I think that every now and then, choosing a really difficult goal and going all-out to achieve it can really be inspiring, and it can teach you some valuable lessons about what you’re capable of.

But this book definitely got me thinking.

What about you? Are there areas in your life where you’ve experimented with turning things down a notch? What happened when you did? Or maybe there’s a situation where you’d like to try that approach. Where can you do less and possibly gain more? And what would you gain?

Feel free to comment below. I’d love to have a conversation about this . . .

Where there is perfection there is no story to tell.

—Ben Okri

Perfectionism is rooted in feelings of shame and inadequacy. We’re afraid that we are somehow not good enough, not worthy enough, to be loved and respected simply by being our natural selves. There are many reasons why this happens, but the upshot is that we feel the constant need to justify our own existence to ourselves and others. Whatever we have achieved thus far is never enough; we must prove ourselves over and over and over and over again.

Talk about a recipe for stress, depression, and burnout.

An article in Psychology Today entitled “Pitfalls of Perfectionism” (March 1, 2008) states:

But the biggest problem with perfection may be that it masks the real secret of success in life. Success hinges less on getting everything right than on how you handle getting things wrong.

What if we were taught that from early childhood? Wouldn’t it have been great if our school grades weren’t based on how well we scored on tests, but on how gamely we worked back through the problems again to figure out what we’d done wrong and how to do them correctly the next time? Or if our parents had asked us how we felt or what we’d learned when our softball team lost the game, rather than saying things like, “Too bad, better luck next time,” planting the unspoken and therefore insidious conclusion that losing was to be considered a 100% negative experience?

What if we were taught that it was (*gasp!*) perfectly okay to express our unhappy emotions, and that if we learned to do this appropriately most of the time, without attacking others in the process, no one would stop loving us?

The quotation continues:

This is where creativity, passion, and perseverance come into play. . . . you don’t make people powerful by pushing them to be perfect but by allowing them to become passionate about something that compels their interest.

When we are very young, everything is play. We don’t worry about failing because we’re so excited about the trying. We haven’t yet learned that we’re supposed to think of ourselves as being on trial before the world.

Think back to your childhood and the first time you rode a bike. Or jumped off the high dive. My guess is that the giddiness and excitement you felt outweighed any bumping-into-curbs or belly-flopping that you might have done. You didn’t do it perfectly, but you had a blast making the attempt. And because you had so much fun, you did it again, and again, until you improved. But the improving wasn’t the goal. The fun was.

So here is the reason why I’m saying that it’s vital to screw things up once in a while. You must learn that it is not the end of the world. That you can recover, and keep trying, and get better.

You must learn failure-resiliency. You need to know, deep in your bones, that you can always bounce back.

And maybe even have some fun in the process.

For any innate talent or learned skill, there can only be one best-in-the-world (or school, or company, or whatever) at a given time. And let’s face it—chances are pretty high you’re not it. That’s not a put-down; it’s simply me making a guess based on the odds without knowing exactly who is reading this.

But what if I’m wrong about you? What if you really are the best at Whatever-It-Is? Even then there’s no surety, because there’s always the chance—pretty much the certainty—that someone will improve on your best performance some day.

So if your sense of security comes from being king or queen of the hill, you’ll either be disappointed when you don’t get there, or when some newcomer knocks you off your throne.

If your sense of self-worth is synonymous with your performance, you will never, ever feel safe.

Now what happens if you allow yourself to be—and appear—fallible? A few pretty nifty things:

• The intense pressure is suddenly off. You can relax a little. Or even (shhh!) a lot, if you want or need to.
• You now have room for improvement. (If you score 100% right from the get-go, how can you ever do better than that?)
• People will not expect 120% of your effort all the time, so there is leeway when you’re operating at less-than-normal capacity for any reason.
• People will feel connected to you because they’ll feel you’re one of them, not up on top of (or trying to climb) some kind of pedestal.

Now I’m not arguing for deliberate mediocrity here. I’m not saying that you should be lazy, or that you should stop setting and striving toward goals. That’s probably not in your genetic makeup anyway. After all, here you are at a blog about perfectionism, right?

All I’m saying is that if you can surrender your need to appear so unremittingly perfect, to yourself as well as to others, you’ll probably be able to loosen up and enjoy the ride a whole lot more.

You’ll also get to define success and happiness by your own internal yardstick rather than society’s external benchmarks.

Granted, this takes practice. A lot of it. You can’t shuck all of your conditioning with a single shrug of the shoulders.

Hence the name of this blog. ;o)

And now for something completely different.

For the past several days, just half a block from my Bill-Paying Job in San Francisco’s downtown Financial District, a small blackbird has achieved international fame by persecuting pedestrians and entertaining onlookers. Swoops, as the bird has been affectionately named, is simply protecting his newborn chicks. It is a perfect collision–literally–of the natural world, technology, and our human desire to connect and share with each other.

Feathered defender of your nest, meet the Internet.

My roommate and I stopped to watch on our way to the BART station after work today. Sure enough, there was Swoops, vigorously living up to his moniker. People were taking pictures with their cell phones. Some even had small video cameras. We watched for several minutes, along with the small yet ever-changing crowd which now congregates at SGZ (Swoops Ground Zero), then grinned at each other and headed for the subway after a close call when Swoops briefly zoomed over to our (opposite!) side of the street.

I didn’t realize until I got home to check YouTube that our neighborhood dive-bomber had become internationally famous. He even has his own dedicated blog.

In fact, should you find yourself in the Bay Area and wish to stop by Front Street between California and Sacramento to see the show (for however long it lasts–apparently these chicks will soon leave their doting parent with a case of Empty Nest Syndrome), Swoops’s dedicated fans at the Chronicle have even provided some handy suggestions on the proper Attack Bird Viewing Etiquette and Best Practices. (No, I’m not kidding. Click on it–you know you want to.)

Nothing profound here . . . or maybe I’m just too tired to come up with any profundity tonight. I simply wanted to share a perfect little San Francisco oddity which is quite literally happening around the corner from me.

Signing off,

A Swoops Fan

In my last post, I talked about the wonderful feeling you get when you achieve closure on something that’s been hanging out on your to-do list for too long. I also talked about the importance of being gentle with yourself as you delve into your piles of stuff (either virtual or actual).

Now it’s time for an admission. I’m really, really bad at being gentle with myself.

Specifically, I’ve been in a physical purging phase (no, not bulimia, just uncluttering) for a handful of months now, and at times I’ve been downright brutal about it. And you know what? Mostly it’s felt really, really good.

So I guess the last one was the “closure” post, and this one is the “disclosure” post. As in, full disclosure on my part. Because no matter what I said last time, and no matter what I say in the future, sometimes just digging in and going full bore until you’ve got some tangible results in one intense session of something can be extremely satisfying.

What’s been hard has been dealing with my own limited stores of energy, and that’s where the patience and compassion have come in. I can’t always go full bore like I used to. When I was in my teens, twenties, and early 30s I could burn the candle at more ends than the candle had, and to hell with the consequences. Well, now I’m living with the consequences. I’ve learned you can’t ignore your body completely, because it will let you know in no uncertain terms when it’s had enough of your disrespect. I’ve learned (well, okay, I’m learning) to ride the waves of energy as they come; to be grateful when I have enough to get things done, and to be at least somewhat at peace when I just need to stop and rest for a while.

But the stuff? The physical stuff? Oh, I’m getting rid of it right and left. I’m being as responsible as I can, taking bags of clothing and usable household items to Goodwill, but I’m also making myself just toss things. Sure, maybe I could get a few bucks for, say, that piece of old concert memorabilia on eBay, but to be honest it’s just not worth my time, effort, and energy. Energy has become currency to me, and I sometimes have to be even more thrifty with it than I am with money. (Ooh, ooh—I could write a blog post about that. Let me know if you’d like me to write a blog post about that.)

Anyway, back to brutality. (Now there’s something I never expected to type in my blog.) During any of my recent decluttering sessions, I’d pick up the next thing in the area I was working on and ask myself, “Is this something that you love? Not just like, but truly cherish?” If not, I’d ask, “Is this something you use with any regularity?” If the answer to both questions was no, the item was history. Okay, there some exceptions, such as paycheck stubs, tax returns, and other papers that I sort of have to keep on file for a certain amount of time, and a few projects that I still intend to do (no, really!) and simply haven’t gotten around to yet. And books. My biggest gazingus pin. I’ve learned the folly of getting rid of books. It doesn’t work—they find a way back.

So if you find yourself ready for an intense bout of Whatever-Clearing, here are some tips I can offer you based on what has worked for me.

Clearing physical possessions? Give them the Active Ownership Test.

Active ownership is different than passive ownership. Passive ownership is keeping your two-sizes-too-small jeans in the very back closet where you can’t see them, so they are there if you ever lose the weight. Active ownership is hanging them in full view as a motivator to do your daily workout. (Not that you should—that’s just an example off the top of my head.) Passive ownership is storing a box of Grandma’s heirloom jewelry on a shelf somewhere. Active ownership is keeping a few pieces in your jewelry box and wearing them occasionally, with fond thoughts of her when you do. Passive ownership is using your weight bench as a clothing rack and plant stand. Active ownership is picking up those barbells and dumbbells on at least a semi-regular basis and doing some lifting.

The Active Ownership Test fits into the concept of wabi-sabi. Does the thing you’re considering have great value for you, such that you truly cherish its utility, uniqueness and presence in your life, or is it just taking up space? I’m not advocating asceticism, or tossing out things you really will regret later, but it’s important to recognize that our possessions take up energy in our psyches as well as space in our homes and offices. If you’re only passively owning something, you might want to take a close look at it and decide whether it’s worth the space and energy needed to maintain it. Letting go of things does not make you a bad, disrespectful, wasteful, or ungrateful person if it’s truly time to let them go.

Working on your to-do lists? Give them the Rolaids Test.

Yes, I just made this up right now, because I’m a word geek who likes inventing acronyms. And yes, it’s kinda silly.

That activity you’re considering. Does it have a ROLAIDS (Realistic Or Likely Action I’ll Do Soon) in its pocket? If it does, leave it on your to-do list. If not, do one of two things with it. Either put it on a separate “someday/maybe” list (concept courtesy of David Allen’s book Getting Things Done) so that it’s written down where you can review it later but you don’t have to waste energy by having to remember it, or drop it from your list entirely. Ahhhh! How do you spell relief? )

In either case (physical items or to-dos—and yes, those can and often do overlap), an intense session of Going Through Your Stuff can have fast-acting, stomach-easing results. But use with caution! This method works so powerfully that it can sometimes trigger unintended trauma. When in doubt, test it on a small portion of your home or office first, wait 24 hours, and observe the results. Proceed carefully. Less invasive methods may be indicated.

And always consult your decluttering doctor before beginning any new exorcizing program. Here are a few I recommend highly because I’ve personally worked with them all:

Lisa Baldwin of Divine Order
Jennifer Hofmann of Inspired Home Office
Shannon Wilkinson of Your Life – Inspired

And remember—if you can—that being gentle with yourself also works wonders.

Or so they say.

I have a lot of wonderful friends who are dealing with a huge sense of overwhelm right now. Many of them are in business for themselves, which means they’re pretty much trying to do all the events of an Olympic decathlon simultaneously without dropping any balls…erm, batons. Others are just (“just”!!!) dealing with all the demands of an overly hectic life, both online and offline.

This post is for them, and others like them (you, maybe?). Because the technology we’ve developed over the past handful of decades has evolved so much faster than our nervous systems that we can’t keep up with our own devices and systems anymore. Yet we’re taught to think we should. And if we don’t, we’re to blame. Personally.

So let’s forget about the fact that most if not all of my friends have so many “to dos” on their lists that the weight of them would give a rhino’s knees arthritis. Let’s not even talk about how many of those tasks and projects are required by others, self-imposed, or some combination of the two.

Let’s look for a moment at the experience of overwhelm.

The time management and productivity experts like to talk about things like quadrants, mind maps, next tasks, lifehacks, and trusted systems. And I’m not knocking them—those concepts and tools are all important and very, very helpful. But I’d like to add one more concept to the list.

Closure.

The experts give us all kinds of ways to achieve closure on tasks and projects, but in my experience, few of them talk in depth about what that feels like. They (correctly) make the assumption that a sense of closure is what we want, and then mostly just dive right into showing us how to get it.

But closure is worth some solid discussion, because it’s really the big “why” lurking behind all those schedules, planners, checklists, and nifty filing methods. Because let’s face it, people—no matter how you do it and what tools you use, nothing feels quite so good as getting stuck into a task, finishing it, and crossing it off your list.

That’s worth saying again.

When you’re overwhelmed, nothing feels quite so good as finishing something. Or better yet, a few somethings.

Only you know how you work best. Some people (like me, for instance) hate the feeling of clutter, and would rather clear the decks of as much of the little stuff as possible before tackling the bigger tasks and projects. Other people crave the relief of knowing that their One Big Thing is out of the way so that they can focus on the smaller tasks.

Whichever way you operate, when things in your life are not done or not finished, it bothers you, either consciously or unconsciously. And this doesn’t just relate to your to-do lists. Often people are surprised when they do some purging of their physical possessions and experience a sense of relief that feels entirely out of proportion to the material they got rid of. This is usually because all that physical stuff represented unresolved mental and emotional stuff in one way or another.

This is not to say that we should all become Zen-like ascetics and eliminate all material possessions from our lives and all time commitments from our schedules. But maybe you can (gently, compassionately, and only if it truly feels okay) admit to yourself that you haven’t really looked at any of those dozens of your first love’s notes and letters in more than 25 years, and you won’t suffer if you don’t keep them anymore. Or that the chances of you actually reading all those books stacked on the corner table (or chair!) are minimal at best, and that you’d feel more relief from donating them somewhere and knowing you no longer “had” to read them than you’d feel guilt over not having read them.

When you eliminate enough things from your list(s) and space(s), the feeling of overwhelm starts to dissipate. Your headspace feels clearer. And that feels wonderful. There are two basic ways to get that deliciously liberating feeling:

1. Finish things.
2. Discard things.

It’s extremely important to be gentle with yourself in the process of doing both. That’s hard for perfectionistics, I know. I know. And we’ll talk about some ways to do that. But for today, if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like you to try a little experiment.

First, finish just one thing that’s on your to-do list, no matter how small. Go and get that spare copy of the house key made. Return those library books. Answer that one e-mail that’s been nagging at your mind. Whatever.

Next, get rid of just one thing that you think you have to do, but probably don’t. Will your job really be in jeopardy if you don’t attend this week’s staff meeting? Will your house really flood if you don’t clean the leaves out of the gutters this year? Do you honestly need to read every issue of Widgets Monthly to keep up with the developments in your field? If you skip this month’s, will you be okay? Try it, just this once.

And revel in the tiny but very real feeling of relief it provides.

More later.