The pernicious power of procrastination

“So, how’s that retirement going?”

That question invariably comes up when I run into someone I haven’t seen in a while.

Tolerably well, tolerably well. That’s my usual reply.

We’ve laid the foundation for the Next Chapter (no, I’m not writing a book), have the resources necessary and a variety of prospects in the pipeline.

In the mean time, I’ve been volunteered to help out with some Chamber projects (go figure) and I sometimes run a Meals on Wheels delivery route. Oh, and the city council put me on the brand new Public Arts Advisory Board — for my sins, the members of said board made me the chair. The more I investigate that project, the more I realize it will probably be pretty intense and intensive.

Plus, unless I’m meeting someone for coffee, I rarely put on real pants until noon. Or 5 pm (that’s a particularly satisfying win). So, I’ve got that going for me.

Yeah. So far, this retirement gig is going tolerably well … except for this one thing.

The other day, whilst wandering aimlessly in HEB (and there’s a whole blog I’ll write about THAT some day), I was accosted by a good friend who asked, innocently, if he’d been deleted from the watch list for this blog.

“I haven’t seen one in a long time,” he said. “Maybe I’m not getting the notices?”

That’s when I realized the danger, the fatal flaw of retirement.

Most of my professional career was driven by deadlines. Daily and weekly reports. Ad deadlines. Copy deadlines. More reports. Press deadlines. Suddenly, all of those deadlines evaporated.

I don’t have to worry about payroll or explaining my messy P&L during the monthly Ops Call. Creative isn’t hammering me about late ads and the copy desk isn’t waiting on my column.

So, while lifting the low-grade but constant deadline pressure that comes with running a small newspaper brought an unexpected sense of relief, it also allowed one of my more annoying character traits to burble to the fore. I wasn’t prepared for it.

The lack of a hard deadline has enabled my natural proclivity for procrastination.

Andy, that’s why you haven’t received a notice about this blog. Except for the one photo-driven post, I haven’t published a column in, oh, weeks.

In my defense, much of March and early April was consumed by a pair of short term projects. I wrote a great deal, just not for this space. Then there was the wedding in Washington state. Another wedding is bearing down like an 18-wheeler run amok.

Did I mention the volunteer work?

While I can blame my publication paucity on all of that, they are not reasons, they are excuses … because well, it’s not like that there hasn’t been stuff in the news upon which to comment (are you following the antics of the Texas Legislature? There’s some bat-shit crazy stuff going on!). Or things to write about (see the HEB note above). And, while it’s true that the Next Chapter refers to our embryonic consulting business rather than a book, there’s some sort of something like that rocketing around my noggin begging for release.

No. Procrastination is not my friend. *sigh*

I guess I need to get up from this desk and put on some real pants. And, I’ll do that. Right after I finish this cup of coffee.