I Am Bad At Certain Things
Is there value in admitting that we're bad at something? Must we improve ourselves in every way?
Dear Creators,
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” reads the email I just sent. “I am kind of The Worst.”
It’s become boilerplate language by now, the admission that I am The Worst — the sheepish, shameful apology shrouded in self-deprecating humor that I send when it takes me more than a month to respond to an email. (Which is often.)
For those generous, kindhearted folks who are about to protest — I do know that I am not actually The Worst. There are a lot of murderers and cannibals out there.
But email is necessary for both business and personal life — an essential life skill in our modern era — and as a writer, I should be good at it.
Besides, it’s not hard, as many, many people have informed me:
“Just answer your emails when you receive them.”
“Just block out a time each day or week in which you respond to all of your emails in one fell swoop.”
“Just create a series of canned responses for various situations.”
“Just learn how to prioritize.”
“Just respond and hit ‘Send’ without proofreading or worrying about how you sound.”
“Just think of your inbox as a treasure chest of opportunity!”
“Just find someone to help you.”
“Just get 1% better at it each day.”
“Wait, aren’t you a writer?”
I’ve tried all of these methods across all three of my Gmail inboxes. I’ve also tried Inbox Zero, folder systems, and autoresponders. But no matter how much I want them to work, and no matter how good I’ve become at building habits, they never stick.
The problem isn’t that I’m lazy, or that I’m just not trying hard enough.
The problem is the multi-step process that each email represents:
Interrupt or postpone the project I really want to be working on
Open one of my three Gmail accounts, select an email, and read it
Parse out the email’s request (e.g., please send over files for __, please write a letter of recommendation for __, please beta read __’s manuscript, etc.)
Put in the work of fulfilling the request OR find a graceful way of saying no
Craft a kind, professional, and smart-sounding response
Edit and proofread the response, ensure the recipient is correct, that all necessary folks are CCed, etc.
Hit “Send”
Take a deep breath… and start all over again with the next email
It sounds so orderly, so structured! But when one multiplies this process by 15 or 30 each day, it can quickly overtake one’s actual work.
It would be very easy for this letter to get complain-y — and maybe it already has. But I don’t think I’m alone when I say that my email inbox represents an overwhelming list of tasks that I never asked for or agreed to take on. Tasks for which, the vast majority of the time, I am not getting paid. Tasks that take precious time and energy away from my actual, meaningful work, and yet are still necessary.
So is the problem that I’m not good at email, or that I don’t care to “get better” at email?
First, what would “getting better at email” look like? Ideally, I would respond to each email within 24 hours of receiving it. My inbox would not contain hundreds of unread (or read-and-then-marked-unread-again) emails. I would not panic and immediately begin drowning in overwhelm upon opening my three inboxes. Which all sounds very nice.
So how do I make that happen? What would I need to do? How would I need to change and improve myself? Does it include:
Lessening my workload?
Learning how to better manage my time?
Setting and sticking with an email schedule?
Making my peace with the fact that email is a necessity of modern life, and it is inevitably going to eat into my writing/family time?
Becoming less jealous and guarded of my writing time?
Moving email higher up on my priority list?
Changing my mindset about email (re: treasure chest of opportunity)?
Becoming less of a perfectionist?
All of the above?
All of these are ways in which I could improve… if I cared about “getting better” at email.
(Quick side note: this isn’t necessarily about email. In fact, I invite you to replace email with something you struggle to do — be it washing the dishes, staying in touch with your relatives, fitting exercise into your life, budgeting your finances, getting to work on time, spelling words correctly, keeping your floors clean, querying agents, or sending out your creative work for publication.)
But… is it worth it? What if email (or whatever it is you struggle with) is really far down my (or your) list of priorities? What if I’ve already allocated a pecking order for my 24 daily hours, e.g.: My Marriage > Writing > Family & Friends > Cooking/Eating Healthfully > Showering > Having A Clean House > Learning/Personal Growth > Exercise > Sleep > Self Care > Freaking Out That I Haven’t Released A New Write Now Podcast Episode In Several Months > Email
What are we personally motivated, morally obligated, or societally expected to do when we should “get better” at something that is very low on our list of Things That Matter To Us In Life?
When I’m lying on my deathbed (assuming that I don’t get eaten by a bear out in the woods, or hit by a bus), what will I regret most? Not publishing more books? Not spending more time with my family and friends? Or never having reached Inbox Zero?
That’s not to say email is unimportant, or that there aren’t consequences to our choices and actions. My failure to respond to emails within an acceptable timeframe is both disrespectful and rude to each and every sender, and has likely cost me multiple professional opportunities.
(But… do I want more opportunities when I am already struggling to find time amidst my workload to shower, go for walks, or respond to emails?)
My question today is: Is it okay to be bad at something?
Or, once we recognize and acknowledge something less-than-optimal within ourselves, are we obligated to jump aboard the Continual Improvement Express?
Will I ever “get better” at email? Or will my tombstone be engraved with, I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you — I’m kind of The Worst?
Words & warmth,
Sarah
P.S. If you’ve ever sent me an email, I don’t hate you and I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I promise. It’s not you — it’s me.
P.P.S. If you are reading this letter as an email, I hope you are enjoying the irony.
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Cheers, and thank you!
I can so relate to this post, Sarah. For me, it is my failure to meet my book marketing expectations where I am constantly beating myself up. It feels as if I'm always trying to improve in that area, but the reality is that I really suck at marketing. Trying to post something regularly on social media and always thinking of ways to promote my books is ongoing internal battle. Book marketing is a constant push out of my comfort zone and feels like a necessary evil, which makes me ask myself your questions - Is there value in admitting that I'm bad at something? Must I improve myself in everyway to consider myself a success in this venture? Hmm - Maybe I should start to be kinder to myself. Maybe I should accept what I can do and forgive myself for what I don't accomplish. Because, it's not like we're not given it all everyday, but there is only so much one can accomplish and still hold on to our sanity. Thanks for reminding of us this.
Sarah,
Emails are obligations that someone else is placing on you without your consent. And I have been guilty of that! So, as one of those folks who have previously been in your inbox--and who you did reply to--feel free to ignore us in the future. :-)
The only part of the book Deep Work that I remember at all had to do with auto-replying away the obligation to answer emails that weren't wanted. It definitely sounds impersonal, but if it helps you focus on managing your stuff rather than everybody else's stuff, that's a win!
Assume the emails will not stop--what's the best way to deal with them? Answering each of them personally is not the answer. They'll just keep coming! Perhaps I'm evil, but--if you're not auto-replying to say you might get back if you're interested--I don't see anything wrong with form letters. I had an internship at a publishing company once (and I've read for several online magazines), and we sent many, many, many form letters in response to unsolicited (slush) submissions. The authors who sent those submissions often were very invested in them, but the authors didn't die horribly because they received a form letter in response. They just moved on to whatever was next--the next publisher, the next agent, etc. Yeah, it's a bit of a bummer not to be Chosen, but it's not the end of the world. (Yup, I'm evil AND heartless!)
So have some permission to decide you're not going to be "good" at email and punt the responsibility for what other people want or need when it doesn't align with what YOU want or need. I know that's much easier said than done, and sometimes email can be a nice respite from other work that you (or I) really should be doing, but why don't you give it a try?
Another (more evil) Sarah