The Unopened Box: A Tale of Tech, Mahjong, and ADHD Procrastination
How a video doorbell became a symbol of delay, self-reflection, and the quest to overcome ADHD-induced inertia
Two years ago, we ordered a video doorbell during a rash of “yutes” (cue Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny) testing car door handles and rummaging through any cars they found open, helping themselves to whatever the car owner may have left inside. The police recommended residents install video doorbells. By the time our doorbell arrived, the “yutes” had moved on, and the urgency of the moment subsided.
Yesterday, I finally installed the video doorbell. Why? Because I needed to get a card table out of a closet because it was my turn to host Mahjong.
The closet door shuddered with trepidation as I tried vainly to push it open. After multiple tries, I opened it wide enough to stick my foot inside and kick a few offending boxes away from the door. My ADHD brain had forgotten that I had fed the hungry closet many boxes of surplus Christmas decorations, toys to have on hand for grandkid visits, two sets of cushions for our kitchen barstools that were well past Amazon’s return window, old laptops and printers, and countless other random items. I promise I’m not a hoarder. But I tend to shove things into closets with the excellent intention of dealing with them later. As those of us with ADHD are all too familiar—out of sight, out of mind.
To get to the card table, I had to remove items to create a small path from one end of the closet to the other. On a roll, I removed everything—including the video doorbell, still in its original packaging. I tossed many things, consolidated many others into two empty plastic bins, and put some back on the shelves. The video doorbell, however, came downstairs with me.
As an adult with ADHD, I struggle with memory and attention. It can be easily forgotten if something is not directly in my line of sight or immediate attention span. This sometimes impacts tasks, responsibilities, and even personal relationships.
Every few months, Mike asked about the video doorbell, curious about when I would install it. His requests grew more…um…direct as time went on. Soon—I always promised that I would install the damned doorbell soon. You might be wondering why Mike couldn’t just install the doorbell himself. No reason, really, except that I’m the “techy” in the family. While he does most of the heavy lifting of day-to-day life, the technology tasks fall to me.
After two years, the box made it downstairs—where it sat on the kitchen counter for more days than I care to admit. It was not out of sight, so it was very much on my mind.
Finally, in a rare burst of focus, I tore the box open and installed the damned video doorbell. The installation and set-up were rapid and easy. I reflected on why I let it sit for so long. The box may have been out of sight for two years, but it would have been easy enough to haul it out of the closet on any of the many occasions Mike had asked about it.
I spent the last few days seriously reflecting on why—for two years—I was so resistant to opening the box and installing the video doorbell. Why do I procrastinate? It’s not just video doorbells. I procrastinate with just about everything. If I have to be somewhere at 1:00, for example, I will leave the house at the last minute to ensure I’m there on time, which usually means a few minutes late. I like to post my newsletter on Tuesday morning, and here I am, sitting at my desk typing this well into the afternoon.
Why do I do it? Why do I procrastinate? I have a few theories:
I’m easily overwhelmed. Several Thanksgivings ago, I stood paralyzed in the kitchen full of dirty dishes. Mike and my sons usually do the cleanup, but they were outside, and I wanted to get organized enough to put out dessert. My then-soon-to-be-daughter-in-law saw me looking like a deer in headlights. She swooped in and started stacking dishes. Her motion broke my inertia, and we stood side-by-side at the sink, hysterically laughing and getting the job done. Often, to combat my feeling overwhelmed, I make the straightforward decision to put the task off until tomorrow, next month, or two years from now. Because, in my neurodivergent way of thinking, the task will somehow be easier tomorrow, next month, or two years from now. For me, all it takes is motion. One step in the process. Five minutes of writing. One box tossed out of the way to make room for my Mahjong table. One smart young woman moving dishes from the counter to the sink. Motion—the perfect antidote to paralysis. Alas, taking that first step is always easier said than done.
I fear doing it wrong, whatever the “it” might be. I have perfectionist tendencies and often procrastinate until an inescapable deadline hangs over my head like a hammer. Contrary to many ADHDers’ job experiences, I never got fired. (Except when I worked at McDonald’s, which is a story for another day…) The looming deadlines at work were like little fires that helped get me moving. The stress fed my adrenaline, and I did my best work under pressure. Not so much anymore. Because the older I get, the more mistakes I make when I don’t give myself enough time to complete a task.
Sometimes, I simply need more motivation to start a particular task. When a task is not intrinsically rewarding to me, I have great difficulty starting it in the first place. The video doorbell may have been one of those tasks…
If I dig deeper, I’m sure I will find more reasons for my tendency to procrastinate, which has been a lifelong struggle. Going forward, in addition to learning how combat procrastination, I’d like to learn how to be kinder to myself about this tendency and accept that I’m just…different.