A few years back and feeling uncharacteristically “manifesty,” I audited a “plan your upcoming year” course, which is to say, someone I knew was trying out a new idea and I was an attendee. The idea was to write down all the things I wanted to accomplish over the next year, so I could grab my desires by the tits, and get to work.
There is nothing inherently wrong with showing up to a new year with intentions, and obviously I supported my friend and her idea (and still do), but I take me wherever I go. The planner went into the recycling bin 60 days later with “write something” scrawled on page one/day one, and that was the end of that.
See, impact is greater than intention.
Visions boards are cool, writing down goals can work for some people, but some of us are fucked up and need low expectations. WHAT ABOUT US?? Perfectionists suffer too.
The other day I was reading a story about a police chief in his sixties completing a punishing obstacle course at the F.B.I.'s National Training Academy in Quantico, Virginia as a meaningful way for him to confirm, I guess, that he’s “still got it.” At the beginning of the obstacle course, runners are met with three signs that read: “HURT. AGONY. PAIN.”
Richard Simmons would never.
In my opinion, the goal should always be progress—not survival, not enduring.
I don’t know where I read it or heard it but someone, somewhere said, “Everything is worth doing half-assed.” It was a revelation. Especially for the perfectionists among us, the kind of people who release flurries out into the world when it should be an avalanche. The kind of people who are so mentally ill with fantastical scenarios cascading through their brains they agonize over single words and every idea, the minutiae of details, the untruths of blood, sweat, and tears leading to success instead of… half-assing it.
We do not talk about half-assing enough as a goal. Whole-assing, sure. But half-assing, never. And we should.
Why not half-ass your job so you can whole-ass a hobby. Half-ass watching your kids, so you can whole-ass your own time. Half-ass your relationship, so you can whole-ass a nap. Half-ass the dishwasher because, fuck it, the people you live with need a whole-ass clue. Half-ass watching TV so you can whole-ass reading books. Half-ass the loudness of activity, so you can whole-ass doing nothing. Half-ass the socials, so you can whole-ass living.
Why not make this a half-ass year, so you can whole-ass whatever you want.
No presh, though. I don’t want to send you into a resentment coma.
This year I plan on wearing many pairs of disappointment pants. Is this what my husband calls my sleep wear, but I call my day wear? Yes. Do I think it’s hilarious, also yes. Mainly because sweatpants are a disappointment for anyone who’s not wearing them. Sweatpants say, “I value my comfort over your gaze.” And when you think about it like that, aren’t sweatpants just the greatest?
But practically I love the idea of putting on my disappointment pants one leg at a time so I can go out into the world and half-ass the day. It seems deeply comforting to me in a way the oppressive optimism and aggressive demands of grind culture makes me want to huff exhaust fumes.
I once read a newsletter by a writer marketing themselves as a “top shelf writer.” I guess this person thought they were slumming it on Substack, and I thought to myself: Why would you ever put that out there, one typo and everyone will know you’re full of shit.
Folks, you will find many typos at Flop Era. I whole-ass cankle-level writing. It’s just me and the slobbering babies doing tummy time down here. And I have never been happier to manage that expectation for you.
This year it’s not about doing hard things, it’s about half-assing whatever I can. Feel free to join me.
Currently
Reading: Women Talking
I’ve had this book in my TBR stack for over three years. And I must finish so I can see the movie. Then it’s SPARE.
Watching: Conan the Barbarian
Yes, with Arnold. And yes it holds up. There is a part where James Earl Jones’ character says something terrifying like real power isn’t brute strength, it’s cult-ish control over people. And y’all, the chills.
Listening: The Town with Matthew Belloni
This podcast from the former Editorial Director of the Hollywood Reporter covers all things entertainment industry. Last week was the shakeup at WWE, this week it’s the insular world of Netflix.
Suggesting: This calendar for freelance writers so they can plan their upcoming pitches
From holidays to seasonal topics like back-to-school, cultural events and more, this calendar drops reminders so you can pitch accordingly based on glossy mag timelines and events.
Loving: These pillows in the shape of dino nuggets
Absolute perfection. No notes.
If you like reading Flop Era, please do me a solid and tap on that heart button. It helps readers discover my cankles and my writing. Love you forever for it. Mean it.
I can only whole-ass one thing at a time. Everything else is half or less.
I think I might love this half ass idea. And disappointment pants, what a concept, I say, as someone who puts on her pajamas as soon as she gets home from work, whether it's 6:30 or 9:30.