This morning started innocently enough: a quick tidy-up of my desk—or so I thought. What began as a bit of paper shuffling and cable untangling somehow escalated into a full-scale excavation of forgotten notebooks, dead batteries, and a pen collection that would have been impressive—if any of them worked.
By the time I looked up, two hours had vanished, and my desk was still an absolute mess. Accomplishments? Well, I’d tested every pen, crafted a makeshift to-do list on a torn envelope, and debated for far too long which drawer deserved to house my paperclips. It was not exactly productive, but it was strangely satisfying all the same.
I’ve always been a fiddler. Hand me a gadget, and I’ll spend hours tinkering with it and chasing some elusive notion of perfection. I like to think of it as the creative process, but let’s face it—sometimes it’s just an elaborate way to avoid finishing. An unfinished project brims with possibilities; a finished one stands there, flaws and all.
This afternoon, I continued fiddling with my website. I opened my laptop and made tiny changes. After making each change, I checked my computer, tablet, and mobile phone to view the outcome. I then immediately replaced the coding with what I had before.
Fiddling is a peculiar thing. It’s procrastination and productivity rolled into one. You know you’re not really achieving much, but you’re so engrossed that it feels meaningful. And maybe that’s the point—the joy of getting lost in the small, inconsequential details of a task that doesn’t demand perfection or even completion.
When I finally called it a day, my desk was marginally tidier, though still far from being perfect. The website? That’ll have to wait for another day.
Maybe fiddling isn’t about the outcome. Maybe fiddling is the outcome.