I always heard people talking about being organized. Like it was some kind of hobby or something you picked up from a self-help book. I used to think I was just naturally neat, the kind of guy who puts his keys in the bowl every time and keeps his socks matched. Didn’t think it was a thing for me, you know? Just how I survived.
Then, about two years back, life threw a total curveball. I decided to buy a 1985 Ford Econoline van. Not a nice one. A truly broken, rusty, rat-infested heap that needed a total, soup-to-nuts conversion into a proper camper van. A disaster, frankly. My wife looked at me like I’d lost my mind. The thing was a total mess, a colossal piece of chaos. It was the biggest project I’d ever taken on, and the moment I saw the scale of the work, my simple ‘neatness’ went right out the window.
The Initial Breakdown: When Chaos Requires Lists
The first thing I did wasn’t pick up a wrench. No way. I pulled out a giant notepad and about five different colored pens. I started the documentation phase. I couldn’t even think about fixing anything until I knew exactly what I was dealing with. My initial process was simple:
- The Full Inventory: I walked the entire van, inside and out. I literally cataloged every single broken fixture, every water-damaged panel, every rusty bolt hole. I wrote down the size of the rust patches. I got so detailed that I knew which wire color went to the defunct tail light before I even bought a toolkit. This wasn’t fun; it was just necessary.
- The Budget Spreadsheet: Next up. I opened up the ugliest, most detailed spreadsheet you’ve ever seen. I knew I had $15,000 to spend, total. I didn’t just allocate money for “wood” and “plumbing.” I broke down the cost of every single screw, every foot of wire, and every gallon of paint. I had line items for “Duct Tape, High Quality, Emergency Use.” I had a running total that updated every day, whether I bought something or not. I tracked every penny.
- The Time-Blocking Nightmare: This is where things got really nuts. I didn’t just say, “I’ll work on the van this summer.” I broke the entire project into 42 distinct phases. Phase 1: Engine Assessment. Phase 15: Install Subfloor. Phase 31: Test Propane Lines. I assigned an exact number of hours to each phase and plotted them on a massive paper calendar. If a phase took longer, the whole calendar shifted. I refused to let one part bleed into another until the current one was 100% finished.
My neighbor, who was re-doing his deck at the time, would come over, shake his head, and tell me to just “feel it out, man. Go with the flow.” He laughed at my colored pens and my messy, crossed-out timetable taped to the garage wall. He’s still staring at a half-finished deck two years later, by the way.
The Unstoppable Focus and the Realization
I admit, it felt stupid sometimes. Spending three hours just sorting electrical wires by gauge before starting the wiring job felt like a waste of time. But here’s the kicker: because of that initial, pedantic, borderline insane level of detail and organization, the build phase itself was seamless. When I went to install the cabinets, I didn’t need to run to the hardware store for screws because I already had the exact number and size listed in my inventory from two months prior. When I started the plumbing, I knew exactly how many feet of PEX pipe I needed because I had drawn it out, measured it twice, and budgeted for 10% waste.
I finished the van project in exactly eight months and stayed $500 under budget. When I took it out for the first long trip, everything worked perfectly, because I hadn’t skipped a single step in my ridiculous, phase-by-phase plan.
It was actually my old man who put the pieces together. He was helping me clean up the last of the debris, looking at my planning wall, which was still up. He goes, “You know, you do all this stuff like you were built for it. All this organizing, all the details. You’re a textbook September 21st Virgo, kid. That hyper-focused, critical approach is just your wiring.”
I’d never really paid attention to astrology, but I Googled it anyway. I sat there, reading all the stuff about being detail-oriented, the need for exact order, the critical eye, the drive to finish what you start, and I just saw a mirror of my messy spreadsheet and my color-coded timetable. It wasn’t that I was a genius carpenter or electrician; it was that my natural tendency to over-plan and systemize had completely bulldozed the chaos.
The practice wasn’t learning how to be focused; the practice was allowing my natural organization trait to run wild on a truly huge task. It wasn’t about trying to be perfect, it was just the only way I knew how to get it done without quitting. If you’re out there struggling with a big project, maybe stop trying to “go with the flow.” Just embrace the pencil, the spreadsheet, and the deep, deep need to know exactly where every single screw is going to end up. That’s the real path to getting stuff done.
