Embracing an analogue life

Hello, my name is Cavan and I'm a productivity app addict. It's been thirty-seven days since my last click.

It's funny because it's true. I've always liked a system, and the slicker, the better. Notion. Todoist. Trello. Evernote. I've tried 'em all, planning my days to the millisecond and syncing everything to my super-duper colour-coded calendar.

My workflow was perfect. My system was slick.

And that was the trouble. It was too slick. Too perfect. Too quick. Too streamlined. The system went on and on and on and on – and I never stopped to breathe...

Until I did. Because it was all getting too much.

I was always on, filling every second of every day. It was relentless, and I needed to slow down.

That's FACT ONE about me. FACT TWO is that I buy a lot of notebooks. Of course I do. I'm a writer. It goes with the territory. Get two or three writers in a room and at least one of them will start talking about stationery. Most will admit they repeatedly buy notebooks and then stash them on a shelf, too scared to actually use them. Writing words? On those pristine pages? What would you say? And what would happen if you accidently scuffed the cover?

*faints*

I was no different. In fact, I was probably worse.

Hello, my name is Cavan and I'm a stationery addict. It's been (checks notes) five hours since my last purchase.

Of course, the solution to problem A (my productivity system is too whizzy and slick, meaning that I never stop) was found in problem B (I buy too many notebooks).

What if I binned the apps and just used the notebooks?

And that's what I've been doing for just over a month... and it's been kinda glorious! I write things down and cross them out. With pens. And pencils. Using rulers. Exactly like I did when I was a student... and it's reminded me that I liked working this way, back before everything became slick, shiny and digital.

Yes, there's no rewarding 'bing' when I complete a task, but there IS a satisfying shrrm of a red line being slashed through it instead. And the task doesn't just disappear like it never happened. I can see it on the page, with its red line, along with all the other struck-out tasks. There. In front of me. Actual evidence that I have achieved stuff!

Give that man a biscuit.

Okay, there is nothing revolutionary in all of this, but it has actually helped me feel more in tune with what I'm doing. My tasks aren't abstract any more. They're in the real world, written down on pieces of paper.

And, because I have to take the time to write a task down, I'm more likely to actually do it. Why? Because, at the very least, I don't want to have to write it down again tomorrow, do I? Best do it now – or skip writing it down at all if the task isn't worth doing in the first place!

Unexpected perks of going analogue

Other unexpected benefits I've found:

• I actually enjoy the process of laying out my schedule for the week ahead. (See below.) It doesn't even feel like work, more like a craft project.

• And yes, laying out the pages takes time, but I've even found that helpful. It forces me to slow down, to actually think about the week ahead rather than just filling in boxes on a screen.
• It's also helping me get over the pesky perfectionism that bubbles under the surface of everything I do. My notebook pages definitely aren't pristine. I write the wrong thing and scribble it out. The ink smudges. The pages get dog-eared.
  
  And do you know what...? It doesn't matter. Not one jot. No one dies!

You have no idea what a big deal this is for me. What is it Winston Churchill was supposed to have said? Perfection is the enemy of progress? Boom! Nailed it, Winnie, you absolute legend... especially when it comes to me.

I've always HATED it when something gets scratched, bent or bashed. Cracked spine on a book? DISASTER! Crease on a page? BURN IT WITH FIRE!

At least, that's what used to happen. I'm trying – really trying – to stop caring as much about how things look (difficult) and to embrace the fact that accidents happen (almost impossible, but I'm getting there).

It's another reason I've started lino printing. No print is 100% perfect – especially the way I do it – and all the little accidents give the prints their charm. If you wait for something to be perfect, you'll never finish anything. You'll always be too scared to put it out there, going over and over the same thing until all life has been squeezed out of a project.

So, if my dog-eared notebooks help me get over myself, then I welcome the scuffs and smudges. I embrace them.

Proof of use

Case in point: as part of my new analogue life, I've started carrying a pocket-sized notebook around with me instead of reaching for the notes app on my phone. I've filled a couple of the little things over the last month or so, kicking off a new volume last weekend.

Here it is, stashed away in its little not-really-sure-what-you-call-it... the thing that also carries a pen, pencil and pencil-sharpener:

So far, so good. So TIDY!

But just take a look at its predecessor:

Look at how tatty it is, hiding away under its replacement.

The. Cover. Is. Torn! 😱

A couple of months ago, that bent corner would've sent me screaming in horror, let alone the rip.

Now, I actually like it. It shows the book has been used. It's something I've carried around. Something that means something to me.

Silly, I know, but it feels like a step forward. And I'm seeing my attitude change with my work. It's not that I'm becoming slap-dash – far from it – but I'm not obsessing over everything. I'm learning to let go. To step lighter. To be more flexible (which I talked about on Monday in my post about trying a new way of working).

Have I completely stopped using all software? No. Some of it is still mega-useful (such as how I use Notion to break pacing in my comics), but shiny apps are no longer the be-all and end-all.

I'm feeling more focused, more in control and finding it easier to switch off at the end of the day, which has to be a win.