My Sustainable Productivity Manifesto

I hesitated in using the phrase “sustainable productivity” to describe the primary focus of my group coaching programs and newsletter, because the word “productivity” can call to mind a mindset that doesn’t center people’s humanity.  

People are not machines. It’s deeply problematic to think of productivity as trying to wring as much output from ourselves as possible.

I’ve seen comments by various people in recent years who are trying to shift away from using the word “productivity.” And I’ve also seen an uptick in the use of qualifiers that humanize the word: sustainable productivity, slow productivity, heart-focused productivity. (“Heart-focused productivity” is from Jocelyn Glei’s Hurry Slowly podcast.)

I decided in the end to use one of these phrases, because I think that “sustainable productivity” can be a useful shorthand for the practices that help us do the work that we genuinely want to do but sometimes struggle to get done. But I think it is essential to explain what I mean by “sustainable productivity.”

And so here is my sustainable productivity manifesto—a set of guiding principles for supporting ourselves as humans as we try to regularly do creative and intellectual work (such as academic writing). Since we all have highly individual needs and working styles and are juggling different sets of responsibilities, the specifics of how to best support ourselves will vary wildly. And so this manifesto is grounded in an ethos of experimentation (#4).

I strive to encourage, both for myself and others:

1.     Practices that are sustainable, meaning they don’t lead to burnout and don’t diminish our sense of self-trust or self-worth.

2.     Practices that fold in rest and pleasure, and that are embedded in our broader lives as whole people.

3.     A culture of naming and acknowledging what is hard about creative and intellectual work.**

4.     Respect for our own unique brains, bodies, needs, and rhythms, paired with a spirit of experimentation, so that we can figure out specific structures, strategies, and actions that help us as individuals do the work we want or need to do.

5.     A deep sense that our own innate worthiness isn’t contingent on what we produce or get done (or on anything else).  

6.     Honest reflection on our current capacity—on our existing commitments, larger priorities, and energy levels—when we’re setting goals and figuring out our boundaries.

7.     Flexibility and self-compassion in planning and goal-setting, so these processes can be adaptive and remain supportive when our initial vision doesn’t match our reality.

8.     A strategic approach to our work (including our writing, especially if we are short on time) and an effort to rein in perfectionism.

9.     And at the same time, recognition that the creative process (for academic writers, the process of developing, refining, and communicating ideas) involves distinct phases that we generally can’t skip past or radically compress.

10.  Attentiveness to the particular phase of the creative process we are currently engaged in for a given project, and curiosity about what steps will move us forward at that phase.

11.  Connection and community around our writing or any other difficult work we are doing, in whatever form feels comfortable and supportive to us as individuals, at whatever points in the process we need it.

12.  Tapping into our “why”—the sense of purpose that motivates our creative and intellectual work (or other sorts of work!).

And I strive to avoid:

1.     Shame-based framing, both for process (since the specific processes that work for us and the specific kinds of support that we need are highly individual) and for output.

2.     Any sort of perfectionism related to sustainable productivity! (Sometimes we won’t get the rest we need, etc. It’s all okay!)

**The third principle above—“acknowledging what is hard about creative and intellectual work”—was inspired by a discussion in Michelle Boyd’s wonderful book Becoming the Writer You Already Are. Boyd reflects on how academic writers often mistake difficulties intrinsic to the writing process (that are hard for everyone!) as reflecting their own inadequacy as writers, because academics tend to not talk openly about their writing challenges.

Some of these principles push against the culture of higher education and society more broadly. And of course, institutional requirements and overwhelming workloads at some universities—as well as tight timelines for particular writing projects—push many academics toward schedules and practices that don’t feel sustainable. I don’t have any magic solutions to these structural problems! But my hope is that some of these principles (translated into specific actions that make sense for you and your life) can help make your broader work life feel at least a little less difficult—and help bring some renewed energy and momentum to your writing practice.

Even putting aside external pressures and constraints, the principles here aren’t always easy to put into practice. I myself have tendencies toward perfectionism and a history of harsh self-talk and all-or-nothing thinking (probably related to my ADHD). And so it’s been important for me not to approach these principles as a checklist or set of metrics, but as gentle nudges toward mindsets and practices—and an overall philosophy of work—that help me use kind self-talk and settle more easily into deep work.