Half-Assed Is a Habit, Too

Aug 21

5 min read

I have a really hard time with half-assed.

There. I said it.

And before somebody comes for me with the whole not everything has to be perfect speech, I know.

Trust me, I know.

Some things can wait until tomorrow. Some things don't need seventeen color-coded folders, a spreadsheet, a five-step plan, and a damn committee meeting. Sometimes the laundry lives in the basket for three days. Sometimes supper is cereal. Sometimes the weeds get tall. Sometimes we are tired, overwhelmed, busy, distracted, burned out, or simply out of give-a-shits.

Life requires some give and take.

But there's a difference between letting something wait and developing a habit of half-assing everything we touch.

That's the part that gets me.

If you're going to do something, why not do it right?

Not perfectly.

Right.

There's a difference.

If you don't know how to do something, okay. Nobody comes out of the womb knowing how to replace a faucet, write a grant proposal, fix a fence, create a spreadsheet, train a horse, make a budget, or troubleshoot whatever weird little light just came on in the truck.

But we live in a world where you can type almost anything into YouTube and some man in Ohio has made a 14-minute video explaining exactly how to do it.

Research it.

Google it.

Ask somebody.

Call the person who knows.

Hell, ask the person who might know and see if the two of you can figure it out.

There is something incredibly valuable about being able to look at something and say:

"I don't know how to do this yet, but I know this isn't right."

That little piece right there?

I think that's a form of common sense we don't talk about enough.

Because nothing frustrates me faster than asking if something is finished, being told, "Yep," and then finding out later that it was only kind of finished.

The gate is shut, but not latched.

The paperwork is done, except for the part that actually submits it.

The thing got put away, but in completely the wrong place.

The job is technically completed, except now someone else has to come behind it and fix it.

And suddenly "done" created more work than not doing it at all.

That's the part that bothers me.

Because when someone tells you something is taken care of, you're supposed to be able to mentally take it off your list.

You should be able to trust it.

Finished should mean finished.

Handled should mean handled.

And the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized this isn't just about chores, work, employees, spouses, kids, projects, or whatever else we might be tempted to complain about.

We do this to ourselves, too.

We half-ass our own lives.

We say we want something and give it 40 percent.

We want to get stronger, but we don't really change anything.

We want a different job, but never apply.

We want the business to grow, but avoid doing the uncomfortable things that would actually grow it.

We want better relationships, but don't have the conversations.

We want to learn something new, but quit when we aren't immediately good at it.

We want our lives to change while continuing to put the exact same amount of effort into them.

And then we're disappointed when we keep getting the same result.

That's where I have trouble.

Because at some point, effort matters.

There are opportunities we will never know we missed because of the impression our effort left behind.

Someone noticed that we showed up unprepared.

Someone noticed that they had to double-check our work.

Someone noticed that we said we'd do something and didn't.

Someone noticed that when everybody else stopped, we kept working.

Someone noticed that we asked questions instead of pretending we knew.

Someone noticed that we cared enough to get it right.

Those little things build reputations.

And reputations build opportunities.

I also have to remind myself of something constantly:

Not everybody thinks like I do.

Not everyone is wired to juggle twelve things at once.

Not everybody is trying to build something bigger.

Not everyone wakes up with their brain already running down six different roads before the coffee pot finishes brewing.

Some people genuinely have different priorities.

Some people are content with slower.

Some people value simplicity more than achievement.

Some people don't feel a constant pull toward the next thing.

And none of that automatically makes them lazy or wrong.

I have had to learn to pull on the reins a little bit there.

Because my standard cannot automatically become everybody else's standard.

But I also don't think "everyone is different" means standards suddenly don't matter.

There's still something to be said for caring about the quality of what you put into the world.

For having pride in your work.

For knowing that your name, your reputation, your character, and your confidence are attached to the things you do.

And maybe that's actually the part that matters most.

Confidence.

Because every time you follow through, solve the problem, figure something out, finish something correctly, or push yourself beyond "eh, that's probably good enough," you're building evidence for yourself.

Evidence that you can handle things.

Evidence that you can learn.

Evidence that you're dependable.

Evidence that when something gets difficult, you don't immediately fold.

And the opposite can become evidence, too.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"That's probably fine."

"Nobody will notice."

"I don't know how."

"Someone else will fix it."

Say those things enough times and eventually they stop being explanations.

They become habits.

And habits have a sneaky way of turning into identity.

That's what I don't want.

For myself, either.

Because I'm guilty of it too.

There are things I've procrastinated because I didn't want to deal with them. Things I've rushed because I wanted them off my plate. Things I've avoided because I didn't know where to start. Times I've expected more effort from other people while quietly knowing I wasn't putting my best effort into something else.

It's easier to see half-assed effort when someone else is doing it.

It's considerably less fun when the mirror gets involved.

But maybe that's the question worth asking ourselves:

Where have I gotten a little too comfortable with "good enough"?

Not where do I need to become perfect.

Not where do I need to work myself into the ground.

Not where do I need to add seventeen more things to an already overloaded life.

Where have I started accepting less from myself because it's easier?

Because I don't want to spend the rest of my life doing everything halfway.

Halfway committed.

Halfway trying.

Halfway curious.