Chunking

I don’t remember where I came across this term. It might have been in college. It might have been some organizational efficiency class I took at one of my previous jobs. Wherever I got it, it’s a term that’s stuck with me for at least two decades now. It’s fused its way into my neocortex so now, naturally, I’ll pass this little brain worm on to you. You can see what wonders it did for RFK, Jr.

“What the heck is chunking?” I hear you ask, and I will tell you. No, it’s not how you put on extra pounds in the winter time. Although that certainly does happen for many of us, me included. My version of chunking is simply this: take a large project — as big as you can think of, something that seems immobilizingly overwhelming — and break it down into tiny little manageable pieces that your anxiety can handle. You’ve probably heard the term eating an elephant, right? This is that, except bypassing the rough, dusty hide and tooth-cracking tusks. Also, no flies buzzing around or hungry lions waiting to pounce from the tall brush.

Here’s an honest-to-gosh, real-world example you maybe might can relate to. I have this story I want to submit to an online science fiction magazine. The story has been rejected a few times already, so I know it needs work. Probably some major rewrites. Probably a more satisfying ending. I don’t know how many story rejections I’ve had over the years. Lots. I stopped counting after sixty. If I do nothing with this story, I know for fact it will be rejected again. So that little brain worm is wriggling in there and telling me, “This is a lot of work. This will require a ton of time and effort. You already have a lot on your plate. Maybe why don’t you just forget about this? You probably need a snack first to give you an energy boost. You should probably check your email and socials just to make sure you don’t have any messages waiting. Hey! Wouldn’t it be cool if you had an acceptance waiting in your inbox? You should go check that!” This goes on for some time.

Maybe it’s not writing for you. Maybe it’s an assignment at work. Maybe it’s a new art piece you’d like to start. Maybe it’s the laundry basket overflowing in the bathroom or the dishes piling up in the sink. Maybe it’s practicing your instrument or winter conditioning for a spring sport. Maybe it’s finally downloading that Couch to 5K app you’ve been meaning to get to. It could literally be any big, important, meaningful thing you’ve wanted to get done for forever but just haven’t gotten around to it for whatever reason.

All these thoughts and distractions are whirling around inside your head, and the task just seems overwhelming. And even though you desperately want to start this thing, the urge to procrastinate is 100% real. Here’s where chunking comes in. (No, put the tub of ice cream back in the freezer. No that kind of chunking, remember?, as tempting as that is.) Let’s take my above example, the one about that story I really want to submit. Everything that needs done to make that story submittable hits me over the head at once. In its entirety, it’s a huge undertaking. I know this. I accept this. So how do I approach it? Here are my steps for breaking it down.

1. I give my feelings and desire to procrastinate a time limit. I acknowledge these feelings because they are real. If I don’t face them, they’ll keep bothering me. I allow myself a minute or two to sit, breathe, and feel the anxiety and frustration. I accept that I don’t want to expend all my energy, and I wish there was an easier way. But, I know the only way to get it done is if I do it myself. If I want the results (like a published story), I have to put in the work. So, let’s get to it.
2. How to even begin? This thing’s a mess! There’s SO much work to do! Calm down, Hoss. Breathe. Chill. Yes, it all has to be done. But it doesn’t all have to be done right now. One step at a time. Baby steps even. What’s the first step? In this case, just get my thumb drive out of my day pack. My thumb drive is where I keep all my stories. Just take it out of the pack and slide it into the computer. Just that. Get the drive. Slip it in.
3. There. The drive is connected to the computer. Now what?
4. Open the file. Just open it. You don’t even have to look at it yet if you don’t want to. Just open it.
5. It’s open. The cursor is blinking at me. Look at all those words! Where do we even start?
6. Read the first paragraph. Not the whole story? No. Just the first paragraph.
7. Okay, the first paragraph wasn’t actually so bad. It was even good. Now read the second paragraph.
8. Not bad. So far so good. Now the third paragraph.
9. What the … ?!? How did THAT get in there? No wonder this story got rejected five times. They must think I’m an idiot. I’m not good. I can’t write. What made me think I was any good at this. Dude! Calm down. You wrote this story four years ago. You honestly don’t think you’ve grown as a writer since then? You honestly think you’re not better now?
10. Grab a notebook. Jot down that a change is needed in that paragraph. Keep the notebook beside you. Keep your pen in your hand. Recognize that you’re gonna spot more things that need changed. You don’t have to make any changes right now. Just keep reading and making notes.

Often with writing my stories, all it takes is getting past those first few paragraphs. I realize it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. It’s delightful when I find it’s actually better than I thought it would be. After that, I’m usually lost in the story and I get excited about making the changes and finishing the work.

I’m not saying you’re going to get thrilled about doing the laundry or the dishes or that assignment at work. But you still have to do it, right? It’s not glamorous or exciting, and you might not even get any recognition for completing it, but it still has to be done. Chunking is a good alternative to procrastinating. It’s at least a way of helping you overcome procrastination.

Dishes need to be washed? Open the dishwasher door. Pull out the racks. Maybe there are dishes in there that need to be put away first. Start with just the plates. Then the glassware. Then the silverware. Load the top rack only. Or the bottom. Then work your way up or down or towards the middle. One sink is empty now? Just rinse it out. Run the disposal. Now start on the second sink. One spoon at a time if that’s what it takes.

Assignment needs done at work? Double check the deadline. Read through your notes about the project. Make a list of who can help or answer questions. Is anything unclear? Ask for clarification. What information are you missing? What piece of information do you need first to get started? Are there any reports you need to run?

You see how this works, right? We feel anxious and overwhelmed when we think about all the work needed to get us from point A to point ZZ. But no one expects us to jump over that chasm in one giant leap. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. One bite at a time. One day at a time. One tiny task at a time. Follow the yellow brick road. Sometimes those steps are no larger than simply opening the thing, or looking at the thing. Chunking literally tricks us into the project, shows us it’s not so bad after all. Chunking is a way of giving our brains the old bait-and-switch. It’s clickbaiting our way into productivity. We can’t possibly do the whole thing at once, but we can do some of the thing right now. And that’s the real trick, thinking up the next tiny step, then taking it. Then taking the next one. And the next.

Have a project that needs doing but not sure where or how to start? Give chunking a try. Lemme know how it goes.