I didn’t drop last week’s letter until Saturday.
Not because I couldn’t write it.
Not because I didn’t have time.
I had both.
What I didn’t have was the willingness to choose it when the moment was actually there.
The strange part is—I knew this the entire week. I wasn’t blindsided by Thursday. I didn’t “lose track of time.” I watched myself think about what I wanted to make, imagine how good it could be, promise I’d sit down later… and then do something else.
This is the part I’m learning to name: the lag.
The Lag (A Real Example)
Last week, the mansions dropped in GTA V.
Instead of working on my letter—something I’ve been saying I want to make meaningful progress on—I hyperfocused on starting from zero and grinding enough money to buy one.
That meant spamming yacht missions for boosted payouts. Running high-reward heists. Long sessions that felt productive but were mostly just distracting.
Then, in classic GTA fashion, I found a money glitch. A car dupe.
That’s where my time really went.
Suddenly the goal became easy. I wasn’t grinding anymore—I was investing. Setting things up so future progress would be effortless. And now, as I’m writing this, I’m basically guaranteed the mansion.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth:
I could’ve done both.
I could’ve written the letter and played the game. Instead, I optimized one thing so well that it gave me an excuse to ignore the other.
That’s the lag.
Not laziness—misdirected intelligence.
Why Seeing the Lag Is Actually a Win
What gives me confidence isn’t that I “did better” this week.
It’s that I saw the pattern clearly while it was happening.
I wasn’t lost at the beginning and magically present at the end. I was present the whole time—aware of when I was procrastinating, aware of when I was choosing comfort, aware of every moment I could’ve acted and didn’t.
Some of that was intentional. Some of it was habit.
But all of it was mine.
That matters, because it shifts the cause back into my hands. This isn’t a character flaw—it’s a process I can now design around.
Lag isn’t failure.
Lag is pressure building.
And pressure, handled correctly, turns into momentum.
Hovering Over the Work
If I’m being honest, part of the lag comes from being too comfortable.
Not miserable.
Not stressed.
Just… tolerant.
I spend a lot of time hovering over the work—thinking about it, planning it, imagining how good it’ll feel once it’s done—without actually starting. The anticipation feels productive enough to delay action, even though nothing is moving.
Over time, that anticipation becomes a trap. It replaces the work instead of leading into it. And the longer I hover, the heavier the task feels—not because it’s hard, but because I’ve delayed it long enough to make it intimidating.
At some point, thinking stops being preparation and starts being avoidance.
I don’t need it to feel better.
I need it to exist.
From Lag to Action
The problem wasn’t effort.
It was structure.
No checkpoints.
Scattered ideas.
A schedule that didn’t match what I actually want to build.
So the fix isn’t motivation—it’s friction removal.
Small, gritty actions. Ugly first drafts. Decisions made before the week starts instead of panic-driven sprints at the end.
No more Thursdays that feel like: “I should’ve already had something ready.”
That rush isn’t productivity.
It’s punishment.
What’s your version of GTA this week?
Where are you optimizing something because it feels safer than committing to what actually matters?
Where are you thinking too much and doing too little?
Close this tab and do one gritty thing immediately. Not everything. Just one.
Locking In
By the next drop, I’ll have a content schedule that turns ideas into checkpoints.
No more buffering.
No more hovering.
We ball.
