DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

I hate to even mention this, because there’s a chance it will tip one more person over the edge into a maelstrom of change. I’m sure I don’t even see the whole scope of the change yet, but I’m awed by the tiny piece of the iceberg that has penetrated the surface of my consciousness.

It started with this introduction to GTD. Don’t read it. Seriously. Because a casual read could turn into a couple hours’ worth of poring over documentation, the purchase of a book and a pile of new software applications, and a couple weekends’ time reorganizing your entire existence.

I’m not writing this from the perspective of someone who has mastered a new skill and is eager to gloat, nor from the perspective of a new convert eager to proselytize, but rather from the perspective of someone who has glimpsed the possibility of something incredibly useful and life-affirming and is taking baby steps in its direction while fearfully clinging to the blackboard of old, bad habits with the untrimmed fingernails of obstinance.

And yet, I’ve purged my desktop. This was “step 0.” The aspect of GTD that fit into my brain like a crowbar into a rusty padlock appeared in one of the many personal testimonies and interpretations of GTD that I’ve read over the past two weeks: have a single inbox. Don’t let your whole life — your desk, your calendar, your office, your car, your house — represent a collection of not-done tasks. This was my first Zen slap. I looked at my desk: piles of stuff. My office: piles of stuff. My house: piles of stuff. In fact, at that very minute, I remembered having left a bank deposit on the floor of the passenger seat of the car.

Purging my desktop was a small milestone, hopefully representative of bigger achievements to come. This weekend, I’ll purge my desk. Then my office. Then the project-overflow space in the den. In widening concentric circles, I’ll regain control.

I’ll admit that this is a scary process. Getting organized is a fractal project: no matter how much detail you see, there’s always another entire universe of complexity at the next zoom level. Put another way, my clutter is recursive. And the last thing I need is yet another task for the to-do list.

But I’m going to do it anyway.