Stepping into this week’s column, I find myself not only with a throbbing toe but also a somewhat deflated ego, all thanks to a recent home decorating mishap. It was a stark, painful reminder that sometimes, the lessons we need most are delivered by our own blunders. Like many, I’ve absorbed countless self-help principles, including the popular mantra, “done is better than perfect.” This advice often serves as a powerful antidote to procrastination, urging us to overcome analysis paralysis and simply start. Yet, there are moments when this very wisdom, when misapplied, can lead us down a path of frustration and regret. Last week, my determination to “get it done” took a wrong turn, culminating in me cursing under my breath on the floor, a literal casualty of my own haste.
This particular saga began with a seemingly straightforward task: hanging sound-absorbing curtains in my home office, which doubles as my podcast studio. As a full-time freelancer, my prime writing hours are sacred, and I typically wouldn’t derail them with a home improvement project. However, after dedicating my summer to a rigorous schedule aimed at maximizing my office productivity, I found myself increasingly burdened by a burgeoning “honey-do-it-myself” list. This list, filled with tasks I’d diligently postponed, weighed heavily on my conscience. The desire to make progress, any progress, started to feel more urgent than my writing deadlines.
Fueled by a sudden burst of misguided zeal, much like a child who acts first and considers the consequences later, I dove in. My first step was to locate my cordless drill, a tool I handle with only the most basic familiarity. Next, I scanned the room for the nearest elevated surface that could support my weight. My eyes landed on a three-legged Crate & Barrel stool, seemingly within arm’s reach and suitable for a quick perch. With my makeshift ladder in place, I began drilling holes into the wall. The drill bit penetrated the drywall with ease, but the screw, a critical component, resisted stubbornly, going in crooked. Undeterred, I reversed the drill and attempted again. After nearly stripping the screw head, I managed to loosely attach the curtain bracket, held precariously by my wayward screws, before moving to the other side of the window.
It quickly became apparent that I was improvising in the worst possible way. The holes I drilled were the wrong size, a fundamental error. I realized I lacked the essential plastic wall anchors, a component I hadn’t even known I needed. To compound the problem, the screws I scavenged from a random drawer in my office were a mismatched pair, one already half-stripped from a previous, forgotten project. Despite these glaring deficiencies, a potent mix of stubbornness and impatience propelled me forward. I didn’t care that my window treatment handiwork was unequivocally “half-ass.” My sole objective was to declare the task “done.” I confess, this desperate battle cry is one I utter more frequently than I’d like to admit, especially when faced with daunting tasks.
By this point, I had committed two significant blunders, yet my pride prevented me from acknowledging that the project was veering wildly off course. The allure of immediate gratification, of striking an item off my mental to-do list, clouded my judgment. It wasn’t just about hanging curtains; it was about the psychological victory of completion, however flawed. This powerful internal pressure pushed me past all logical stopping points, ignoring the clear signs of impending failure.
My first mistake, in hindsight, was glaringly obvious. Instead of taking an extra minute to retrieve a sturdy, four-legged ladder from the garage, I opted for the flimsy, three-legged Crate & Barrel stool. It was closer, it was easier, and in my rush to “get it done,” convenience triumphed over common sense and safety. As I shifted my weight to reach a tricky spot, the unstable stool did exactly what a three-legged stool is prone to do: it tipped over. I tumbled, crashing into a portable fan that lay innocently below, creating a cascade of noise and pain.
Sitting there, clutching my foot as a painful bruise rapidly began to form, a torrent of self-recrimination washed over me. I cursed the inherent instability of a three-legged stool, but more profoundly, I cursed my own poor judgment. I knew better. I had even lectured my son about the dangers of using that very stool, warning him he’d “break his neck on that thing.” Yet, in that moment of haste, my own advice was completely ignored. This incident served as a potent illustration of a universal truth: there often exists a vast and perplexing chasm between what we intellectually understand to be right and what we impulsively choose to do anyway. The knowledge was there, but the application was conspicuously absent.
My second mistake was less dramatic, but equally profound, much like the opaque curtains I was attempting to install. My “fabric sound barrier” was now half-hung, dangling from a bracket secured by crooked, wayward screws. These screws were no more dependable than the ill-fated three-legged stool I had stood upon moments before. It was an undeniable certainty that the first attempt to draw those curtains shut would send them crashing down, undoing all my rushed, haphazard work.
Whatever I had managed to “do” today would almost certainly be “undone” by tomorrow. This realization hit me with the force of an anvil. All this time, I had championed the mantra that “done is better than perfect,” believing it would liberate me from the chains of procrastination. But in that bruised, humbling moment, I saw the true, painful reality: half-ass work is not “done”; it’s merely half-done, and often, it’s work that will need to be entirely redone. The satisfaction of a completed task, I learned, is hollow when the job isn’t done well. There’s a profound difference between striving for perfection and simply striving for competence and durability.
I’ve never considered myself a perfectionist. My approach has always been pragmatic: anything worth doing is worth doing well, but always within the constraints of allotted time and budget. That philosophy has been forged by years of working under tight deadlines. However, in the chaotic process of trying—and failing—to hang those curtains, I realized I was grappling with something far more significant than mere sound absorption. This was about my standards, my approach to tasks, and my integrity in doing work, even when that work was for myself.
The painful lesson resonated deep within me, prompting a necessary reevaluation of my guiding principles. The “done is better than perfect” mantra, while useful for initiating projects, proved utterly inadequate when it came to ensuring quality and longevity. It became clear that a more robust philosophy was needed, one that prioritized thoroughness and effectiveness.
With a newfound clarity, I decided it was time to adopt a new mantra, one that would serve as a constant reminder of the value of diligent effort. This powerful principle comes from the legendary UCLA basketball coach, John Wooden: “If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it again?”
This simple question cuts through the illusion of saving time by rushing. It highlights the hidden costs of shortcuts: the time spent redoing flawed work, the frustration of repeated effort, and the potential for injury or wasted resources. Whether it’s hanging curtains, writing an article, or tackling any other life project, doing it right the first time almost always proves to be the most efficient and ultimately satisfying approach. The fleeting satisfaction of hastily ticking off a task is minuscule compared to the lasting pride of a job competently executed.
This wisdom takes on an especially poignant meaning when you’re hobbling around with a half-broken toe, a tangible consequence of prioritizing speed over safety and quality. The home decorating fail transformed into a powerful personal development moment, underscoring the enduring truth that true efficiency often lies in careful preparation and thorough execution. From now on, every project, big or small, will be approached with Wooden’s timeless question echoing in my mind, ensuring that my efforts are not just “done,” but truly well done.