Three principles of anti-productivity
If you, like me, have felt the allure of endless productivity advice wear thin and grow cold over time, why not try something else? Why not experiment with anti-productivity? Here are two preliminary and interlinked suggestions, accompanied by a third item that expands on the accompanying outlook:
1. ON GOALS
Productivity says: “Always visualize your goals. Articulate them clearly. Start with the end in mind. Know where you’re headed.”
Anti-productivity says: “Embrace ignorance at the outset. Have no idea where the hell you’re headed. Let it reveal itself one step at a time. Welcome the darkness of unknowing.”
2. ON METHODS
Productivity says: “Have a clear, organized plan. Break your work down into manageable units. Arrange them in logical order. Proceed in sequence. Establish priorities. Use techniques to manage your energy (Pomodoro, time-blocking, whatever). Stick to a schedule.”
Anti-productivity says: “Abandon any pretense of a chosen plan. Dive in wherever the energy beckons you. Use any technique or no technique, whatever moves you. Let your schedule and sequence be to just show up and see what happens. Follow the Stephen King approach: Just flail away at the goddamn thing.”
3. ON ENDS AND MEANS
The most problematic thing about productivity is that it tends to become an end in its own right, and a suckingly hollow one at that. Its Apollonian allure strokes the ego by promising it the position of CEO in our creative projects. This leads us to exclude the possibility of transcendence in principle, to replace the holy fire of inspiration with an illusion of being in control and choosing our own meanings and destinations. There is nothing actually, intrinsically wrong with articulating goals, having a plan, or using time-and-energy-management techniques. Where these things go wrong is when they promise what they can’t deliver (meaningfulness, fire, inspiration) and substitute themselves as ends instead of means. One of the most direct ways to confront this is to dive deliberately into the sense of being at sea without a bearing, walking a lonely dark road at night with just a dim flashlight for illumination, following the road and the current wherever they take you, and using whatever techniques you have at your disposal simply to keep moving and avoid disaster.
I have sometimes called this anti-productivity approach “living into the dark.” It is, if you want to think of it this way, a strategy for meeting your muse and divining your daimon, for calling on invisible creative help by broadcasting the acknowledgment that the real ends and meanings you serve are beyond you—or at least beyond what you conventionally think of a “you.”
