Finish: Give Yourself the Gift of Done pdfdrive com

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CHAPTER 8
The Day Before Done
’ve never seen someone quit at mile 25 of a marathon.
I’ve never seen someone say, “You know what? I’m almost done. I can
see the finish line, but I don’t like free bananas. It’s time to call it a day.”
I’ve never seen a runner who is afraid to finish.
On the contrary, I’ve seen bloodied, beaten, exhausted athletes go faster the
last mile. I’ve seen triathletes crawl across the finish line, their bodies wrecked
but their will intact.
That was the moment they strived for, that was the moment they spent all
those months training for. That was the most important moment of all.
So then why do starters have such a hard time with the day before done?
Why did Meredith Bray spend six years in undergrad, change majors two
times, attend six different schools, only to fail her last final on purpose, ensuring
she wouldn’t graduate? Why did she refuse to finish for twenty-three more
years, requiring open-heart surgery to motivate her to finally graduate?
Why did an artist friend spend six to eight hours creating an art piece, only
to shred it before she completed it? Better question, why did she do this a
hundred different times, to works of art she now sells for $275?
Because the day before done is terrifying.
One Last Shot
In the 1980s, 92 percent of all romantic comedies involved someone sprinting
through an airport. Back then there wasn’t much security. You could show up at
any airport and essentially say, “I’m going to the terminal to look at airplanes.”
One tired security guard, who didn’t have access to an X-ray machine and thus
was unable to really know whether you had any batarangs about your person,

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was unable to really know whether you had any batarangs about your person,
would wave you through. No questions, no pat-downs, no need to explain why
you require four ounces of hair pomade for a three-day trip.
And if it happened that your one true love was about to get on a plane and
get out of your life, you were allowed to make a mad dash through the airport.
You might not normally be a “bump strangers or jump small dogs that are
clearly not really service animals” kind of person, but on that day you were
willing to be because it was your last shot at happiness. Your entire relationship
came down to that moment, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to save it.
You were desperate.
That’s how perfection feels about the day before done.
You fought through the day after perfect. You cut your goal in half. You
killed your cuckoos. You made sure your goal is fun. You are inches away from
finished and perfectionism knows it.
It only has one last chance to wreck the whole thing, one last opportunity to
topple the entire goal.
And unfortunately, most people never see it coming.
We don’t talk about it. We know the middle is a grind. We understand
collectively that there will be doldrums in the center of any endeavor. That’s
when the going gets tough.
But have you ever heard anyone say, “The worst part of my goal was when
the finish line was in sight?” Of course not. We believe the finish line is a
magnet pulling us toward it, as if, perhaps, momentum will carry us across on its
own volition. We’re half right; it is a magnet, but usually it’s the polar opposite,
pushing against you, not pulling with you.
Into that space, perfection gets louder. Like a villain you only winged and
refused to disarm John Wick–style, it rises back up for one more barrage of fear.
And these last three fears are doozies.