Bare Minimum
/When I talk about being an A student from way back — loving the rules listed in construction paper on my third grade classroom’s bulletin board, feeling the assurance and relief that I could follow them and all would be well — people can get the wrong impression.
They may assume I was the smartest kid in the class. That I worked hard.
As embarrassed as I am to admit this, they would be wrong.
The secret to my A student school life was simple: determine exactly what is needed and only do that.
What I was smart at was figuring out the teacher, and strictly observing the stated rules. After that? Nothing. No extra credit. No reading ahead because I was curious. Because, again I’m embarrassed to admit, I wasn’t. What’s more, I followed the rules so well it never dawned on me to do more.
I was a lucky, scrappy, quietly calculating average student who worked the system.
I got A’s. It worked. Yes, there was still a whole lotta people-pleasing and self doubt, but I also felt super proud of myself for achieving what was important to me while having gobs of free time to waste.
Why am I telling you this? Because I recognized another A student in this morning’s snowstorm, and it made me think about YOU and a potential way forward into your next leap.
Here’s what my kind of A student looks like as an adult:
While everyone on the street was digging out their cars in the dark, one neighbor was the last to join us before the 7:00am opposite side of the street parking rule went into effect. She only brushed off the driver side windshield just enough to see out and rolled her car back and forth a few times to build paths for her wheels in the deep snow.
Then she yelled, “Bare F-ing Minimum!” like a rallying cry to the whole block, put her head down for two more shovels and got back into her car.
Her tires spun for a minute gaining traction and the next she was across the street with her car still almost completely covered.
Bare F-ing Minimum works.
Later when I praised her for it, she laughed and offered me kombucha scoby that she has been brewing. She has A LOT of hobbies, every window is filled with thriving plants, she’s lived abroad…all things someone might assume required diligence and hard work.
Pretty sure it’s not as much as you think.
She’s my people. She could do more but instead she determined what’s enough so she can enjoy wide open time to explore interests. Or do nothing.
You can see where I’m going with your next Leap Plan.
What would it look like to do the Bare F’ing Minimum?
I challenge you to:
List all the things you probably should do this year, or you think someone else would probably do if they were in your position.
Next, write down only what’s required of what you want to achieve.
Pare that second list down even more to remove any should’s that snuck in there. For instance, if you saw someone else do it and think it’s the only path to success, that counts as a should. “I should post on social media every day because that’s what it looked like this person did” (should) vs. “I will find 20 people interested in this and reach out to them this quarter.” (BFM!)
Display the final, gloriously minimum list somewhere you can see often and enjoy for its simplicity.
Every time you see it — or feel guilty that it’s not longer (should attack!) — announce boldly to yourself and anyone in earshot: Bare F’ing Minimum! Like the scrappy-awesome A student you are.
What is your Bare F’ing Minimum this year? Show me your list!
Share it in comments or email me. I’d love to see it and celebrate with you.
