I had a grave procrastination problem in college. I struggled to conceptualize how to break down large tasks into manageable pieces. I also second-guessed small, simple tasks, trying to locate whatever secret complicated thing might be buried in there. Sure, I was meeting deadlines and earning good marks, but I felt perpetually behind the ball. Doing good work, exercising my strongest creative talents and critical thinking chops, but taking little or no joy in the work. It was all doing a number on my nervous system and sleep schedule.
One afternoon, when I was in my sophomore year, I was sitting in the office of the honors college, per usual. Ostensibly there to study, I was mainly venting to the head of the department about the burnout I saw on my horizon. After listening for a while, she paced her elbow on her desk and rested her chin on her hand. “You know who you should talk to about this?” she asked. “Curt McHugh.”*
I knew Curt. He was a junior. He lived on my floor in the dorms. The hot, athletic guy on a floor full of nerds, indie rock dweebs, and backpack rappers. “Sure,” I said. “Why?”
“Because he’s the top-ranked student in the entire honors college.” She shuffled some papers on her desk. “Not just the top-ranked junior. He has the highest GPA of any honors student here, at any level. You might find he has something valuable to share with you.”
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