Why is TODAY the day?
When does something I want to do get moved into the something I'm doing category?
Let's say I want to clean out the garage. And I know I will clean out the garage at some point. But when now is the moment I refuse to wait another day, why is that? Why is TODAY the day?
My old photography professor used to say, there are a million excuses not to do something. He said this in reference to the lack of seriousness his students often displayed when it came to motivation, procrastination, and deadlines. At my first design job, whenever anyone was indecisive, a wise colleague would say, "Shamon!1 Staple some nuts on." In other words, get on with it, dude. The point is, there are a million reasons not to do something. So what does it take to finally silence those voices and staple on said nuts?
I love the phrase "forcing function" because it succinctly describes the mechanism through which progress is born. If I'm standing next to a stranger at the bus stop, the possibilities for what needs to happen next are completely up in the air. I may strike up a conversation, pull out my phone to check email, or try to covertly shift my weight to get rid of my wedgie without using my hands. But what if I'm at the bus stop and a stranger collapses on the ground? That event eliminates every possibility except one: "Hey. Tend to that."
Some forcing functions, like the collapsing stranger, rise up out of the ground suddenly like the undead, leaving us no choice but to address them immediately and directly. But most of the time, they are arbitrary, time-based restrictions. A time-based forcing function is an eggheaded way to say "deadline", and most often refers to finishing something. I'm more curious about starting things I don't already have to do. Personal pursuits are voluntary. I'm not getting paid, no one is asking me to do them, and the outcome won't materially change much about my life. So why do them at all?
Enter the Wild Hair.
Wild hairs are responsible for more action and innovation than MIT, NASA, and DARPA combined. Ever since cavemen saw lightning-induced fire and thought, "I bet we could make some of that", wild hairs have been the tip of the spear of progress. Wild hairs come in two varieties: yours and someone else's. And we only give a shit about one of those. In fact, one of the marks of an effective leader is to persuade others to believe your wild hair is actually theirs, but I'll leave the examination of that topic for another day.
For now, let's focus on ours. Sometimes, when I'm on the couch minding my own business, I'll hear my cat warble loudly from the other room before tearing ass all across the house like she's being chased by a demon. My youngest son calls it "the zoomies". That's the feline version of the wild hair. Unfortunately for her, not only is she an idiot, but she has no opposable thumbs. So sprinting for her life is her loftiest resulting accomplishment. By contrast, we have big wrinkly brains and many thumbs, so harnessing ours is only a matter of taking action.
But a wild hair is more than just an idea. A wild hair is an idea with motivation already baked in. It sidesteps the part of our brain responsible for the million reasons for inaction and puts it directly on the conveyor belt. No debate required. The last piece of the puzzle is to make time for action to take place. Notice I referenced making time as opposed to finding time. Finding time is for all the other things we push off with procrastination. Warren Buffet has a 5/25 rule. In short, the idea is to make a comprehensive list of 25 things you want to accomplish, large and small. Next, prioritize the top 5. Finally, vigorously avoid the other 20. The spirit of the rule is its emphasis on avoiding distractions, but I find it easier if I push that concept even further. Instead of a top 5, I pick a top 1. Except I don't pick the top 1. The top 1 picks me. That's the wild hair.
So how can one harness this phenomenon? How can one use the great fire it lights and apply it to other aspects of personal progress? That's the rub. I've yet to figure out a way to manufacture a true wild hair. Which makes sense, to a degree. It's got "wild" right in the name. So try as I might, my attempts to game the system always default back to something based on a deadline: The website launches in May, I have to write the last bit of copy. Their birthday is next week, I have to pick up a card. The wife comes back tomorrow, I have to un-bachelor this house.
So maybe this question will remain unanswered. Maybe it's just the will of the universe or the lunar tides that dictate our whims and foibles. Unsatisfying, I know. But before I leave you with that unfulfilling conclusion, here's one last riddle: I've had the house mostly to myself the last week and I made a whole list of stuff to get done before my family returns. Yesterday, I spent 3 hours knolling2 a giant tray of the assorted screws, nails, bolts, and washers I compiled over the last 2 years. This, I assure you, was not on my list. Why on earth did I do this?
The wild hair strikes again.
According to Urban Dictionary, "Shamon" is the distinctive deliberate mispronunciation of "come on" used frequently by Michael Jackson. And my wise colleague, apparently.
Knolling is the original term coined for the craft of aligning objects at 90º angles, coined in 1987 by Andrew Kromelow, a janitor at Frank Gehry's furniture fabrication shop.