September 9, 2025
More often than I’d like to admit. Folding laundry? Always. If the clothes make it into drawers, even if socks are mismatched and shirts are inside out, I’m calling that a win. Cooking dinner? Sometimes I’m a master chef with roasted vegetables and homemade sauces. Other nights it’s frozen pizza cut into squares so it feels fancier.
The truth is, half-assing is one of those sneaky habits that creeps into almost every corner of life. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I care just enough to check the box and move on, but not enough to push through to excellence. And sometimes, if I’m being honest, it feels easier to live in that middle ground than to go all in.
When I think about the places I half ass the most, they’re usually the small, repetitive tasks. The kind of things no one’s going to give me a gold star for finishing. Folding towels. Responding to emails. Emptying the dishwasher. These are “get it done” jobs, not “do it with passion” jobs.
But here’s where it gets dangerous: when the habit of half-assing spills into the things that actually matter. Like writing. Like relationships. Like showing up fully for the people I love. It’s easy to say, “Well, I tried my best” (see today’s Thought of the Day for more on that escape hatch), but sometimes that’s just a polite cover for the fact that I only gave 70 percent. And deep down, I know the difference.
That being said, I also believe there’s a time and place for half-assing. Sometimes it’s called survival. Parents know this well. Some days you’re Supermom or Superdad with crafts, snacks, and bedtime stories complete with voices. Other days, dinner is a plate of crackers and you’re reading the same book you’ve read 147 times, this time without the voices. And that’s okay.
The trick is figuring out whether half-assing is a temporary strategy, because you’re exhausted or stretched thin—or whether it’s becoming a lifestyle. The first is forgivable. The second is dangerous. If I start half-assing my writing, my fitness, or my connections with people, eventually that “just enough” becomes my normal. And normal has a way of hardening into who you are.
So how often do I half ass what I’m doing? Too often. But I’m trying to be more aware of it. When I catch myself coasting, I try to stop and ask: Is this a moment where “good enough” is truly enough, or is this a moment where I owe myself, or someone else, more?
Sometimes I still choose the easy way out. Sometimes I push a little harder. But even asking the question makes me feel less like a passenger and more like a driver.
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