I keep seeing this “timestamp” thing freaking my people out.

You know, setting a date for something. This is when it’s finally happening.

Because, you know, the productivity guru-ey people need you to say that whatever it is you’re busy not-doing is — despite all odds — actually going to happen.

And not only going to happen, but going to happen by a specific date.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Especially if it works for you. Yay — stuff that works!

But if having a date on something makes you want to throw up?

Let’s talk about that.

Totally understandable.

Sometimes having a timestamp on something makes you want to throw up because ohmygod it’s going to happen and I’m not ready.

And sometimes having the timestamp makes you want to throw up because ohmygod that’s like, two years from now and what if I can’t make it that long?!

Either way, it doesn’t really matter.

The point is that it’s time for reassurances!

Reassurances!

Point 1: You’re allowed to feel panicked and terrified.

Whatever you’re feeling is a legitimate thing to feel. Always.

Wanting to throw up = normal.

Point 2: Timestamps are malleable.

Here’s the thing.

Life is a weirdly dynamic process. Things shift and change. As we all pretty much know, that’s just how they are.

To paraphrase the Dude, new shit can come to light.

Which means?

Just because you’re saying right now that a thing is going to happen in X amount of time doesn’t mean it has to. It might. But it doesn’t have to.

Setting the date is just to help you feel supported — like the thing you’re thinking about might actually turn out to be a real thing.

But if that’s bringing on the scary? Skip it. It’s just pretend. It can happen sooner. It can happen later.

The point is to make space for it to happen with timing that’s right for you. You can change the date as many times as you need to. Or life will change it for you.

Point 3: You’re almost always wrong anyway.

Ow. I know, that’s not really reassuring. But it is kind of.

Oh, examples. I have some.

When I was a bartender in Tel Aviv and I really, really, really wanted to be not-a-bartender in Berlin, I needed a timestamp.

It had been ten years. I wanted out of the Middle East. I wanted out of the bars. I wanted out period.

The problem is that I was earning minimum wage — which translated to about $3/hour. If I worked overtime and didn’t spend money on anything other than rent and the bare minimum of food, I could save, oh, about a dollar a month.

So my five year plan was … kind of depressing. And not very viable. But I clung to it.

My whole plan was based on all sorts of assumptions about what I needed in order to make the changes. And, as is so often the case with assumptions, I was wrong about all of them.

Because we know nothing about nothing.

It didn’t take five years. It took one year. It was a hellish year, yes. But it was a year.

I had a timestamp. And the timestamp wasn’t all that relevant. What was relevant was the dream. The thing I was giving myself permission to ask for.

Point 4: Things often do happen in the right time.

Maybe not always. I don’t know. A lot.

And the best way that I know to try and remember this easily-forgettable-thing is to ask for the perfect, simple solution.

Like this:

“Okay. Even though I’m not sure I actually believe that things can happen in the right timing for me, I am open to the perfect simple solution.

“I might not be convinced that such a thing even exists, but if there is a perfect, simple solution, it is officially invited to show up. Or even many perfect simple solutions.

“And even though lots of things in my life have happened in really crappy timing, I am reminding myself that I am allowed to think that things generally suck.

“I do not have to turn into someone annoyingly positive in order to be open to the possibility that this particular thing might happen in the right time, structure and sequence.

“And if it doesn’t, then whatever happens will probably turn out to have been good timing too, so I’m going to stop stressing over this if I can. Or give myself some more time with this if I can’t.

“I know it feels really urgent right now that everything work out in the exact right way, and I’m just going to try and remember that when I pay attention to what I need, things work better.”

Well, that’s how I do it.

Your version can be way less ramble-ey.

Point 5: There’s time.

Really.

There’s time.

It’s not like we’re going to stop freaking out all the time.

Maybe just some of the time.

But there are two important things going on here:

  1. If you want to biggify your thing, you gotta work on your stuff. Hence all the destuckification work that we do here.
  2. Working on your stuff is not the kind of thing that gets a “timestamp”. It’s something you do. It’s part of having a conscious, intelligent, non-jerky relationship with yourself.

So you keep doing it. And you use that work to stay grounded.

That’s so when you do set a date for something, and you want to hide under your desk and cry, you know it’s going to be okay.

You know that you’re allowed to give yourself permission to want to throw up. You know that perfect simple solutions are going to make themselves known. You know that you can handle it even if they don’t.

In the meantime, you get to practice remembering that freaking out doesn’t mean you don’t want to do the thing. Just like how avoidance doesn’t mean that either.

And you get to take your time with it.

Comment zen for today …

We all have stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We’re practicing.

The Fluent Self