LJ Idol Week 3: Everything looks like a nail
My dad probably should have been a marketing executive for Nike. I think he’s been uttering “Just do it” at people since he emerged from the womb.
Have homework that’s stressing you out? “Just do it.” Have to do what feels like a hundred different errands? “Just do it.” Need to clean the house and bake the food and decorate for a kid’s birthday party? “Just do it.”
There is no problem, according to my dad, that cannot be solved by just doing whatever it is you are supposed to be doing. And if you are not doing it, then you are lazy.
Which, of course, leads to the impasse between my dad and me.
Because I am nothing if not the very epitome of a last-minute deadline junkie. I never did a homework assignment more than twelve hours before it was due. I never remember to reorder my contacts until I pull the last one out of the box. I wait until the gas tank is dipping down to empty before I stop to fill it up.
My whole entire career is based around deadlines for a reason. If I can do something tomorrow, then yes, I will do it tomorrow.
But besides being a procrastinator, I am also a perfectionist. I dread starting things in the fear that they won’t be good enough at the end. I worry about failing before I even start. I make elaborate plans in my head that I want to achieve to the ultimate perfection but never do because I scare myself into thinking they won’t be enough if I try.
My dad thinks these are excuses and a character flaw. Maybe they are. After all, his house is always clean and the lawn is always mowed and the car is always washed, and whenever something goes wrong - the A.C. breaks or the toilet overflows - it’s working again almost as quickly as it stopped.
But then I try to remind myself that it’s easy to have time when you’re retired. And when he wasn’t, he had my mom to do the cooking and the cleaning and taking care of my sister and me.
I called him over the weekend to see how he was doing.
“Are you unpacked yet?” he asked. After all, we had moved into our new house more than two weeks ago now.
“Getting there,” I said, if by getting there I meant the kitchen was actually pretty put together and the new furniture was bought and we knew what boxes most of the important stuff was living in for the time being.
“It should be done by now,” my dad said, because of course my dad would say that.
I thought about asking him if he would like to watch the baby for hours on end while we unpacked, or maybe he could do my job for me, or do the grocery shopping.
“We’re working on it,” I answered instead.
“Just do it,” he said. “Be more efficient.”
If only it were that easy. But I knew what my dad would say - anything less than just doing it was excuses - so I did what I always did with my dad. I agreed.
“Yup,” I said. “I will.”
Of course I haven’t. A total of two boxes have been unpacked since that conversation. We chose to watch football instead of unpacking. We chose to take our daughter to the pumpkin farm instead of unpacking. My dad wouldn’t understand.
But next time I talk to him and he asks about the house, I’ll tell him we’re making progress.
He’s never going to change, and at least when it comes to this, I’m probably not going to either.
This was written for Week 3 of therealljidol. I hope you enjoyed it! If you would like to read more entries, you can head over here. If you would like to vote for any of the entries, voting should be up Tuesday night at therealljidol.