Procrastinating? You're not lazy. You're probably just afraid.

Why it took me six months to start something that took me fifteen minutes to finish (and how this essay exposed my darkest fear).

Hi, my name is Zack. And I'm a recovering workaholic.

I'm also the Founder and President of Overthinkers Anonymous while simultaneously sitting as the chairman of the board for two additional, highly prestigious organizations— Perfectionists Anonymous and Introverts Anonymous. (If you don't believe me, I rewrote the previous sentence five different ways, and I still don't think this is the best option.)

I also have ADHD.

When I write, I use two very different but equally effective approaches:

Approach #1: I have a highly disciplined routine whereby I break the writing process down into distinct, bite-sized stages, each of them scheduled on the calendar in advance. Because without deadlines and urgency, I'd spend all day walking in circles looking for my pants.

• First I brainstorm by writing random ideas in a journal, filling my ceiling-to-floor whiteboard with unintelligible scribbles, or talking to myself like a crazy homeless person while taking walks (and recording those conversations via the Voice Memo app)

• Then I outline based on my random brainstorms and the transcripts from my voice memos (often organized and summarized via ChatGPT)

• Then I outline again (cuz it has to be perfect before I write a single word!)

• Then I time block my daily writing on a regimented schedule, working towards a pre-defined, self-imposed deadline. Because like writer William Faulkner once said:

“I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.”

For me it's 5:30am Sunday through Friday, but you get the point.

• Then my final steps are doing a polish pass, recording the audio reading (and rewriting once again, because nothing shows you how much your writing sucks like reading it aloud to yourself), and eventually hitting the publish button despite every instinct screaming inside it's not ready yet!

Approach #2: With no plan whatsoever, I ride the train of thought and write stream-of-consciousness.

I'll let you guess which approach I'm using today.

I've already spent way too much time overthinking the opening of this newsletter. I know I'm just supposed to write the first draft without rewriting. That's what all the great writers say. "Write the shitty draft. Then write the real draft. Writing is rewriting!" I wonder what that's like? I even just implied above that today I'm writing via stream-of-consciousness, but is that really true if after writing every single sentence I go back to review the previous words to make sure everything is flowing perfectly?

Remember what you always tell your students?

Don't pursue perfect at the expense of progress.

I'm such a hypocrite. Nobody is more guilty of pursuing perfect at the expense of progress than I am. They often say when you are a coach that you coach others about what you need to hear yourself the most.

☎️ "Hello, Pot? Hi, this is The Kettle. You're black."

I just scrolled above to re-read the first 500 words and make sure they were perfect enough before I'd give myself permission to continue writing. But then I reminded myself today's approach is stream-of-consciousness, and I don't need to revise as I go along. It worked this time. I'm not so sure it will work before I get to the end of this first draft.

I'm just now realizing this is the same pattern I've fallen victim to my entire career as a film and television editor. (Goddamnit, I just scrolled up to check my word count again. Stop it!) I've often talked about on industry panels, on my podcast, and with my students there are two very distinct but equally effective approaches that creatives use when approaching their first drafts:

Approach #1: The Builder

The Builder is meticulous. Before making any creative decisions they can see the end result before they begin. They've brainstormed, outlined, have organized meticulous notes, done their research, and reviewed all possible options and outcomes. If we lived in The Matrix (and who can prove that we don't?), The Builder could literally download their final vision from inside their own head, shot-by-shot, frame-by-frame, word-by-word, and with the press of a button their first draft would be complete.

Approach #2: The Sculptor

The Sculptor throws everything into a big giant pile on the blank page, the blank canvas, or the blank timeline, and they find the finished version rather than building it from the ground up. This doesn't imply they don't have an equally clear vision inside their own mind. But rather than working from neatly organized raw materials and a detailed blueprint, instead The Sculptor works from a giant misshapen block of clay and removes the pieces that don't belong until what remains is their vision.

(BTW, I just did a rewrite pass of everything up until this point. Sculptors, I respect you, but I will never understand you.)

Which brings me to what is apparently the point of today's newsletter. (I say apparently because I had no idea what the point of these words were was up until right now because I'm not writing from a detailed outline...which is terrifying, btw).

As someone with ADHD, I have an overactive imagination. Being highly creative is both a blessing and a curse. And one curse of ADHD (of many) is my ability to construct such a vivid, highly detailed narrative of future events that I'm convinced they'll actually come true.

(Hello darkness, my old friend...I've come to see you once again...)

Case in point, last week I completed a project six months in the making. But here's the thing: It took me six months to start something that took me fifteen minutes to finish.

Six months ago I was forced to relocate my family due to a rat infestation in our home (more on that debacle here), and when we moved into our new home I knew I wanted to install eye hooks to hang various holds to do pull-ups—rings, cones, a pull-up bar, etc etc.

Installing these eye hooks was as simple as getting a ladder, pre-drilling five pilot holes, then screwing in the five eye hooks. The entire job took me about fifteen minutes.

So then why the fuck did it take me six months?

I wasn't procrastinating because I didn't know how to do the job.

I wasn't procrastinating because I didn't have the tools for the job.

I wasn't procrastinating because I was lazy.

I was procrastinating because I was afraid.

I was afraid that when I installed they eye hooks, I no longer had an excuse to avoid doing pull-ups. Because once I had a simple way to step outside my office and do a few pull-ups, I'd no longer have an excuse to avoid training again for American Ninja Warrior.

You see, as an ADHD workaholic overthinker perfectionist I can't just go to the gym or build a weekly running habit. Nope, that would be too fucking easy. When I decided just shy of 40 that I wanted to get in shape and obliterate my dad bod, I instead chose one of the most difficult sports on the planet to learn from the ground up - the sport of ninja.

For the next five years I trained relentlessly, built a new network of mentors from the ground up with some of the best trainers and ninja athletes on the planet (including P90X creator Tony Horton and ANW superstars Jessie Graff and Sandy Zimmerman), and I got "the call" twice to compete on the show. So then why didn’t you see me on the show, you ask? Welp, I haven’t made it on the show (yet). Why? Because I suck at the sport of ninja. Despite my two feeble attempts at running the course in two different Superdomes with 25 cameras upon me and my face up on the Jumbotron screen, I failed. Twice. In the same place. Twice. And neither run made the final cut of the show (despite literally knowing the editors of the show and the producers cheering me on).

(If you don’t believe me, here’s my most recent ANW audition video👇)

For the next two years I have found every excuse imaginable to avoid training again. Because training again means that I'm setting myself up for failure again. And even worse I'm failing my trainers, my followers, my students, and my family. And doing something as simple as installing eye hooks to do pull-ups represents being one step closer to being a three time American Ninja Warrior failure.

What today's stream-of-consciousness writing exercise has taught me is that sometimes writing doesn't have to be for everyone else. Sometimes writing can just be for me. Because having written today's newsletter I think I maybe understand myself a little better now.

Whether you too are a writer, or perhaps instead an editor, a director, an illustrator, a composer, or even an underwater basket weaver (why does everyone use this example?! If you're an underwater basket weaver, DM me. Let's talk.), if you’re putting off something important to you, ask yourself:

What are you afraid of?

Then just do the thing like nobody is watching and nobody will ever see it.

I have many other thoughts on this subject, but I'm going to step outside and do a few pull-ups.

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