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By Root 305 0

of this phenomenon: the inertial competition generated by the backlog of unfinished business. Here we seem to be unoccupied because what we’re occupied with—the backlog—is always present. Another cause of procrastination is that the new task may find us already busy doing-nothing. Now doing-nothing, like the fixated activity of suspension, is indistinguishable from being unoccupied when viewed from the outside. Let’s refer to the state of being unoccupied as the state of not-doing-anything. Not-doing-anything means not having an agenda, not trying to achieve any result. Doing-nothing, on the other hand, occurs when we resolve not to do anything. Like every other project, doing-nothing generates a certain amount of resistance against starting anything else. Viewed from the outside, it may appear that we hesitate to start even though we have nothing to do. In reality, the new task intrudes upon our planned nothingness. If we were really not-doing-anything, there would be nothing to intrude upon and we would not procrastinate.

Since doing-nothing causes us to procrastinate, it would be wise to give up the habit altogether. This doesn’t mean that we should always be busy. On the contrary, a certain amount of not-doing-anything is necessary in the economy of every living being. Even automobiles need to be turned off and allowed to cool. But doing-nothing is actually incompatible with not-doing-anything. It’s a form of keeping busy. Not-doing-anything is a subtle frame of mind, however. As soon as we resolve to attain it, it’s lost. Instead we make ourselves busy doing-nothing. We become guarded, tense, determined, and jealous of our time. Not-doing-anything isn’t something we can decide to do. There are no instructions for it, since instructions can only tell us how to do things. The attempt not to do anything therefore always fails in its objective. This is the downfall of many vacations. The problem of how not to do anything will be discussed again in the last chapter.

We’re especially liable to procrastinate when the task that lies ahead is very large. It’s harder to start writing a novel than a letter, or to start washing a week’s accumulation of dishes rather than a single teacup. The explanation of this phenomenon isn’t as obvious as it first seems. To be sure, a big job is more arduous than a little one. But it doesn’t automatically follow that starting the big job is more difficult than starting the little one. Objectively, it’s just as easy to start washing a great heap of dishes as a single cup. In either case, we simply pick up an object and start to wipe. Finishing is another matter. But why are we more likely to wash the solitary cup without procrastinating than to wash the first item of a heap and then quit?

The culprit is a particular form of anticipation. Instead of deciding whether to begin the new job, we decide right from the start whether we will commit ourselves to the entire project. Since large enterprises call for a large investment of time and energy, it’s natural that we entertain doubts before making such a commitment. But unless we’re asked to sign a contract, there’s no need for a commitment in the first place. The only question that needs an immediate reply is whether to start. Unless we have to make a commitment for some definite purpose, it’s anticipatory to decide now that we will surely proceed to the end. After all, circumstances may change in such a way that finishing becomes unnecessary or undesirable, in which case our deciding will have been in vain. Even if the desirability of finishing is beyond all doubt, no purpose is served by obliging ourselves to finish. The value that persuades us to take the first step will presumably still be around to persuade us of the second step without the artificial aid of a commitment.

The real choice before us is whether to begin. And the beginning of even the vastest undertaking is as simple as fetching paper and pen or picking up a cup. Washing one cup is nothing to think twice about. And having washed it, we find the second cup just as inconsiderable.