Why Did It Take Me So Long to Get Here?

And how I’m here now… On the screen that currently has your attention: Medium.

A story that finally arrived from a recovering chronic procrastinator.

Let’s start from the beginning, because that’s where we are, right?

My eyes fluttered open this morning moments before my automated “wake up” melody began to play. Mild body aches, from starting to get back into power yoga flows, tried to tell me I was still tired, but mentally, I was ready-to-go.

I reached beside my twin-sized bed (that’s another story for another day), picked up the fresh gallon of alkaline water, and took a generous gulp, before starting my daily French practice on my language learning app.

I didn’t close Duolingo and then open Instagram, as had been my routine lately; I hopped out of bed, went to the kitchen and poured me a bowl of cereal with lactose-free milk.

I didn’t finish eating breakfast and get back into bed, as had also been my routine these past few weeks. Nope, not today. I’m not going to stare at my ceiling and frolic around my imagination until my imagination gets tired of me and kicks me out like Da Baby did DaniLeigh. I’m going to get my thoughts out of my head and onto paper.. well, onto Medium.

Yep. Today is the day that I start writing on Medium.

Seems instant, doesn’t it? Well, let me give you a glimpse into how far away from a paper packet of instant oats it is. This right here is some steel cut, whole oats, the ones that take their good time cooking, and sometimes it seems my stove has a short in it.

Let’s pick up from after breakfast.

I grabbed my favorite witches ride out of the cleaning closet and began sweeping my carpet. Then I put a load of laundry to wash. Then I continued sweeping my carpet. Not one fiber can be left unturned.

Whoah, doing laundry and cleaning floors before the sun can even get into the sky good? Yep, this will be a productive day.

Today is the day that I start writing on Medium.

Wait, before I go sit at my desk to begin writing, let me take some antibacterial wipes and pass over all the surfaces, the keyboard, the mouse, the motherboard (or whatever Apple calls this advanced piece of technology on my desk). Well, while I have the wipes out, I may as well go down the sides, legs, and underneath.

Oh, I had to sweep all the debris and shedded hair from my carpet onto the bathroom floor to collect it in the dust pan, so at this point I need to sweep the whole bathroom floor with the straw broom.. then pass the dust mop over it.. then pass the Swifer WetJet over it.. then get down on my hands and knees, with black latex gloves on and scratch up any possible dot of gunk that didn’t come up with the first three tools. And, since I’m down here, let me go ahead and catch these baseboards too.

I’m not procrastinating. I need a clean space to work in.

Today is the day that I start writing on Medium, I’m serious…

But oop! Is that the washing machine I hear going off? Let me put that load in the dryer and start another load to wash.

Hm, shifting this furniture to sweep the carpet, then vacuum it, is giving me some ideas. Let me rearrange it completely. Whoopsie, power strip came out of the wall. I need to organize these cords more neatly anyway.

How can I make this office space more cute.. I mean, more conducive to work? [resists urge to go to Ikea]. How about you start working in it first, ma’am?!

Okay, yes, today is the day that I start writing on Medium.

I can’t leave all of this laundry unfolded, though. My bed is rather slender, where will I sleep?

Girl, fold the darn laundry and then go sit your narrow behind at that desk to write! What part of “today is the day, for real, for real, that you start writing on Medium” did you miss?!

I’m going, I’m going. You don’t have to get so snappy. Goodness!

Today is the day that I start writing on Medium… But it has been a lot of todays.

Today isn’t the first day that I have said “today is the day”.

I said it yesterday, and I said it the day before. I said it a week before that day, and a month before that week, and years before that month.

Now here we are, what, 4–5 years later?

Today, I had to check myself when I was walking back and forth, across the house, from my beauty room to my bedroom, looking for something else to do. And trust me, as my grandmother’s child, I could’ve found a spec of something, but when I realized what I was doing, I stopped myself.

Thinking about it, the voice of one of my girlfriends from back home comes to mind, “what are you cleaning?,” she said with a look of confusion mixed with annoyance on a FaceTime call. It had to be maybe a year ago, so I don’t remember the details exactly, but we’d most likely been on FaceTime earlier that day, and she noticed I wasn’t paying attention to her, so she said she’d call me later, but when later came, I was still preoccupied. She said something along the lines of “ain’t that much dirt in the world, T.K. ..what have you really been doing?!”

What have I really been doing?

It’s pretty obvious I’ve been procrastinating, but why?

As I’m typing this, I open another browser and type into Google, “reasons why we procrastinate” and guess what came up on the first page of search results? A Medium article! See, must be a sign that today is the day, seriously for real this time.

In this multi-hyphenate’s piece, Why People Procrastinate: The Psychology and Causes of Procrastination, he goes over the most common demotivating and hindering factors.

The devil’s helpers for procrastination

• Abstract goals.
• Rewards that are far in the future.
• A disconnect from our future self.
• Feeling overwhelmed.
• Anxiety.
• Task aversion.
• Perfectionism.
• Fear of evaluation or negative feedback.
• Fear of failure.
• A perceived lack of control.
• ADHD.
• Depression.
• Lack of motivation.
• Lack of energy.
• Sensation seeking.

Wow. Why did he just read my life?

Abstract goals

This past weekend, I was on the way to a lunch in Manhattan Beach with one of my closest girlfriends here in L.A. and she asked me about pursuing a specific career field. I told her that it had crossed my mind, but I’m hesitant about doing work (long term) that lacks depth. I’m not picky about which avenue I travel, as long as I’m going toward my overall goal. My voice raised in volume, while going down an octave, as I said with fervor, “I WANT TO MOVE PEOPLE!”

If “moving people” isn’t an abstract goal, I don’t know what is.

Rewards that are far in the future

Medium has this simple and convincing “earn for your writing” page that tells you how you can easily get paid for your published content, but baby, when? And how much? A success story appeared in my email inbox, How I Made $10495.33 in a Single Month of Freelance Writing, but I’d be a fool to believe I’m going to click “start writing” and a month later receive a ten-thousand-dollar deposit into my bank account from Stripe. It also wouldn’t be wise to only look at one person’s journey. To get a fuller picture of potential (or likely) earnings from Medium, I watched several “how much I made” videos on YouTube, and one girl made a total of $3 in her first 6 months of consistently publishing on Medium. Though she did give the positives of writing for Medium, and why, even though she made pennies, she looks forward to how her next 6 months will go on Medium, my point still remains…

The reward of making money on Medium (or any platform) is definitely far in the future.

I won’t bore you by going down the entire list, but I did want to speak on a few, because often times I’ll read articles, or watch talks, from a thought-leader or professional in whatever discipline and they’ll explain a concept or mechanism, and offer solutions or advice, but it’ll leave me thinking, “okay… what does that look like?” They’ll do what’s the equivalent to giving the definition to a word, but not giving an example sentence. And that’s fine. I understand it can be a lot of information to condense into one medium, and sometimes all people want is the definition, but right now, I’m going to be that example sentence.

Let’s skip down the list a bit.

Fear of evaluation or negative feedback

Having excelled in English language arts from primary school thru the matriculation of my Bachelor’s degree in journalism, I’d never even considered the idea of being fearful of feedback. I’d even go as far to say that feedback is the opposite of a demotivating factor for me; because it’s always been good, I look forward to the completion of a writing project to get the reward of feedback.

But my heavens, now that you say it, what if the day came where I was terribly reviewed? I’d be crushed. My writing proficiency is a part of my identity. It has been with me since I learned how to draw letters between those solid lines with the dotted one in the middle.

Let me explain. I want you to feel where I’m coming from. When I say excelled, I’m not exaggerating. I’m not referring to my straight A’s, nor my continuous Advanced rankings on statewide standardized testing, neither being the best in my grade, at my school. No. I’m talking about Ms. Mazonne’s jaw dropping, hearing me read aloud for the first time and taking me out of her 3rd grade class to go perform (lead reading programs) around the whole elementary. I’m talking about the State (Department of Education) pulling me, and putting me in Gifted Education, “for performing at remarkably high levels of accomplishment when compared to others of [my] age, experience, and environment.” Instead of reporting to my base school, a couple days out of the week, they had me go to the campus of a higher school to receive gifted services with a select group of other prodigious students from across all the schools in the district.

When I was a little girl, I’d strut past the chairs at my grandfather’s barbershop as if I knew I was Tyra Banks, honey. People would ask me what I wanted to be when I grow up, I’d say, “a star.” My grandmother was fine with whatever, as long as it meant I’d get out of her house and raise my own kids, but she started weighing in when she got word from the school that I was exceptional in reading, writing, and comprehension.

“You know, you don’t have to be in front of the camera to be a star. You can be the one, behind the scenes, creating what we see on the screen,” Granny began encouraging me to use my brain, in her own special way. “You’re a very sickening and disgusting little girl, I’ll tell ya, but you’re smart as all outdoors,” she’d say.

I suppose I listened to her advice around 11, when I entered a writing competition to win a trip to Atlanta and lunch with Judge Hatchett. To be honest, I didn’t really enter it. My teacher chose the top papers from a mandatory assignment, entered them amongst however many other submissions from various schools, and mine happened to be selected by the host organization. My Granny signed the permission slip and I went. Living on the Southside of Atlanta at the time, it wasn’t much of “a trip” for me, but for the talented kids that earned their spots out of Athens or Savannah, I could see how it was for them.

I’d been performing on a middle school level since elementary school, so by the time I actually got to middle school, I was doing college work. I don’t recall ever asking for it, nor broadcasting my capabilities — now that I think about it, initially, I probably didn’t even know the extent of my capabilities to be able to broadcast them — but somehow, people found out and my cousins in community college started letting 12-year-old me do small homework and writing assignments for them.

One summer after that, the twin to one of those cousins in technical college had heard from her twin, “girl, our little cousin is smart for real.” This twin was an upperclassmen at a 4-year university, studying History. She wasn’t trusting enough to let me do any of her work that she’d turn in, but she did entertain me. We talked about her work, and feedback she’d gotten from professors. After feeling me out further, she tossed Dr. Carter G. Woodson’s “Miseducation of the Negro” into my lap and told me to read it. I wonder if she remembers that. I’ll never forget it. Comprehension isn’t so great now, is it, Miss Missy? My prepubescent mind struggled to grasp the concepts, but I was compelled.

Do you mind one last memory from adolescence?

My mother’s baby sister caught wind of her knowledgeable niece, and had me write her college term paper on the Rwandan genocide. It broke my little sweet 16 heart, studying the massacre that ravaged that nation, but I wrote my tail off and was compensated handsomely.

Boom! A young adult now, still not advertising my services, yet unwanted “clients” made their way to me. It started with an old classmate from high school, now my neighbor at one of the off-campus student apartments, asking me to help her. She knew I could write like nobody’s business because there wasn’t a teacher that we’d taken that hadn’t used my work as an example or pinned it to the corkboard at the front of the class, so I couldn’t turn her down. What was I supposed to say? “Oh, I can’t.” She knew I could do my work and hers and still make it to the football game and all the parties on the weekend. Then her roommate noticed me at their apartment.. we’ll call it, collaborating. Then the roommate’s BFF found out and wanted in on some of that T.K. tutoring (what I named some of the Zelle requests). The list goes on.

You think a broke college student, or even worse, a broke recent college grad, was going to turn down rather easy money? Not a chance. After I was out of school, and relocated to Los Angeles, I wrote a girl through her entire Master’s program. I’m not kidding. When she graduated, she said, “this is our degree.”

Now you see?

It may have seemed dramatic when I said writing is a part of my identity, but I hope this glimpse thru my life illustrates how it’s truly a part of me (even when I never asked it to be).

What if I’m like those contestants on American Idol who don’t know that their singing sounds like fingernails screeching down a chalkboard? Their whole entire lives they’ve been told lies, now they go on national television and Paula Abdul has to force a sympathetic smile as she hands them back their anus after Simon has just ripped them a new one.

I write on my personal, Los Angeles lifestyle blog, and I have received nothing but positive feedback, but what if Medium is my American Idol audition stage?

Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Don’t tear me a new one, friend.

On second thought, be Simon in the comment section if you must. I’ll hope there’s a Paula down there too, to patch up my butt.

Let’s move onto solutions before I keep unraveling and delete this thread.

How I, A Chronic Procrastinator, Am Stopping My Procrastination

Whatever I did today, to finally get me on my keyboard, typing a “draft in T.K.,” I want to bottle it up and take a shot of it everyday.

What am I doing?

• I started by identifying the source and underlying cause of my procrastination. I realized I was using cleaning as a reason to keep putting off writing. When I asked myself why, I realized I didn’t have a clear answer, so I dug thru my thoughts to find the underlying cause, by writing, here, with you.
• Then, I continued by establishing a solid and reasonable goal. I thought about what I’d like to do, instead of twiddling my thumbs for hours every morning, and that’s write for at least one hour every day. (Oh yikes! Right now, I’m on my 8th hour, because now that I’ve finally started, I want to get my first Medium article up before I stop. Hopefully this doesn’t make me relapse into yesterday’s procrastinating ways.)
• I’ll continue by adding in anti-procrastination techniques. I’d like to try breaking down my content creation into smaller pieces, as opposed to chaining myself to my desk and not letting go until my ankle deteriorates and can slide out of the cuff. Instead of trying to do a whole piece at once, like I’m doing right now, going forward, I’ll set specific bits of the overall task to complete (“proofread and add graphics to procrastination draft”, “outline hypergamy blog post”, etc.)

Is it weird to read thoughts from someone who hasn’t made it yet? I know I never see them delivered to my inbox in a newsletter. We’re so accustomed to the success stories, the “I was just like you last year: inconsistent, not motivated, and wishing I could make easy money while doing what I love… NOW, I make $10k/month in passive income from my content, while I sit on the beach sipping a pina colada! Pay $999.99 for my master class and I’ll show you how you can too!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, they were just like you last year.. Well, I’m just like you right now. And anyway, anybody with good sense knows, some online course, filled with information that you can find for free with a little Internet browsing, is not going to take you from not knowing a comma from a colon to a top earning freelance writer. I would say, “I’m going to mind my business,” but I’m not; I’ll be writing about how these folks are scamming y’all soon. Stay tuned.

Whew! Will you look at that? I really started writing on Medium today.

I’m going to keep writing, starting at an achievable one hour per day.

No one may see this, and that’s okay. I’ve identified the problem, analyzed the cause, and set a plan of action to continue rebuking the devil.