Put Off

Delaying a taxing task is one of the few relatively unchecked freedoms of adult life. The mechanisms that deliver consequences for incomplete or nonexistent action are either absent or so slow that the short-term elation of not doing the thing almost always feels better than the slow, tedious burn of consistent dedication and its presumed promise of achievement.

In most cases, the place you live remains the same, the food you eat is consistent, and the schedule to which you adhere is unchanged whether you complete said thing or not. This day-to-day sameness is the foundation of any good procrastinator’s longevity. Big things remain, and little things drift away with the passing day.

Someone I admire says that they stopped checking their mail years ago. If it is so important, they figure, someone will call. (They also neglect to answer the majority of their phone calls.) This is the level to which any amateur avoidant must aspire. To be so high, so elevated, that the demands on the ground become nothing but whispers in the wind.