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Restraint (or lack thereof).
(5 minute read.)
Let a thousand flowers bloom?
I've written about this before. And I'll probably write about it again.
Projects. My work. I have too much.
Does it get to me at times? Oh, yeah. It does.
I tire, and had hoped for quieter times at my age.
Here's another journal entry—rough and incomplete, but still worthwhile…
Do I have too many projects?
Undoubtedly, yes.
But 'projects' is my job—to create and then develop stuff.
And whether I've one project or one hundred doesn't greatly* affect how much I'm able to do or how I do it. So the total isn't significant… I do my work and get to stuff as I'm able.
*There's some additional load and stress when initially conceiving a project—but this is time-limited, and quickly progressively decreases to nil…
After roughing-out the idea and strategy, with an overview note to myself and an intro appropriate for a potential user, I forget about the project until it becomes time to develop it.
Simply, I just get on with whatever I'm working on. When that's done, I then work on what's next.
And there's significant overlap in the projects… content, strategy, process, and other stuff.
Although 'something different, individual', each project is simply 'work'.
My thinking this way is part of how I avoid/reduce overwhelm.
I like to think of it as 'manageable madness'.
I never set out to have so many. It just… happened. Too many ideas (some of 'em genuinely good) meets poor impulse control, during a prolonged period of creativity which is thankfully now diminishing (so I can get on with development).
You start with one. Then another. Then a third that insists it’s completely different but is actually just the first idea wearing a novelty hat.
At some point, I briefly got vaguely sensible and thought about the stuff I'd like to do and assigned a notional two-to-three year timeframe in which to begin it.
So, somewhere just past age 69, my life became akin to scribbling at 3am in a motel room with broken aircon and another project wailing from the corner.
And I thought: yes. This is it. This is the habitat. A place where the only real skill is knowing what not to look at too closely. Especially the master to-do list.
I know I’m more than a little screwed-up—but I’ve made it manageable. Mostly. On good days.
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