Confronting the Procrastinator

Following an onslaught of storms in Southern California, I mentioned to my husband that the study smelled moist. When we pulled back our favorite room’s wall-to-wall carpeting—installed by the former owners—we had the expressions of people who had just seen a horrible crash and couldn’t look away. Instead of cement we saw the white-gray texture of cottage cheese. Damp and congealed, the foundation smelled faintly of Gruyere.

We called our contractor. After reviewing the scene, he recommended a renovation of the room from the ground up. He would knock down two walls of our cheesy study. We had no choice but to comply.

The naked breeziness of billowing, flimsy plastic sheets taunted us for months. Several jackhammer sessions later, (the patio beneath the poured-over foundation was ironically solid), we were eager to rebuild the interior, complete with bookshelves, cabinets, windows, and a door.

Our contractor suggested Dennis, an excellent carpenter, for the interior. Dennis was personable, and his work looked great in photographs. We agreed on a price and were excited to see what he would create from dirt and air.

Dennis showed up for a few weeks, measuring, cutting and constructing shelves and pull-out drawers. We exclaimed with delight as drawers glided with a gentle touch. We bantered and shared stories and lunches. We were relieved to be underway.

Halfway through the project, Dennis called to tell us he would be out of town for two weeks. A funeral in Ohio, a family member. Then he had health issues. Then various relatives needed his help. Weeks passed. Dennis’s stories grew in depth and detail. But not the woodwork. Dennis stopped returning phone calls. I felt frustrated and confused. I didn’t want to call another carpenter. We liked Dennis and his work, and we thought he had liked us.

I had already poured on charm, patience, understanding, and even bribery. I was confounded by this conflict, but I didn’t think for a minute that my Conflict Crunch process could help us. We were, quite literally, stuck.

Shelving my ego’s need to be right about Dennis being wrong, I decided to answer the Conflict Crunch questions I use when I’m in a bind. What could it hurt? In Step Three, I landed on a useful question: Could I “own” this conflict and benefit? Rather than judging my adversary, could I see his aberrant behavior as my own?

First I would need to define in one word what was annoying to me about Dennis. Procrastination, of course. Excited to apply my “own it” tool, I asked myself, do I ever procrastinate? Oh boy do I ever. I considered my regular tendency to delay action, and hit pause on judging Dennis. I was, in fact, actively avoiding the revision of a book I had promised to complete within the year. I had a long list of feeble excuses.

I saw my moment of extreme frustration with Dennis as an invitation to have compassion for both of us with our intimidating projects. Maybe I wasn’t in a great position to judge someone whose behavior I could sometimes see in myself. After this insight, I was ready to have a healing conversation.

I knew Dennis might avoid answering a phone call, but I hoped he might listen to a message. I told his voicemail about my book languishing on my back-burner. I couldn’t bring myself to edit, one more time, the manuscript I’d been working on for years. I said, “I’m afraid I can’t live up to the expectations I had set for myself. I hope you’re not feeling that same pressure.

“I have been in total denial about my own sense of overwhelm,” I said. “I can start by being compassionate with myself instead. I’m going to take time and just work for a few hours every day.

“Let’s do this together. I’ll work on my book. You work on the study.” I went on to explain to Dennis that my husband and I were not expecting perfection from him. That we appreciated all his work so far, and that we thought he was doing great.

Dennis showed up the next day for work. He apologized for making excuses. I asked him to tell me how he found the courage to return to the bookshelves and cabinets; the work was difficult and demanding after all. He didn’t directly answer my question.

Instead, he showed me areas where the wood would not meet perfectly and how the room sloped unavoidably. I shrugged and told him I didn’t care. The walls would meet with an imperfection that no one would notice.

Crunch Clincher:

The bookshelves are imperfect, sturdy and lovely. As is the final draft of my book.

Crunch Take-Away:

Whenever you’re certain you have a right to judge someone else for their failing, be sure to look for that same flaw in yourself. Then take a deep breath and exercise compassion.

See what happens next.