It starts with a fresh planner.
A clean page. Maybe a grid. Possibly a list of goals written in that same fine-tipped pen you save for birthdays and intentions. You’re calm, focused, and deeply convinced that this—finally—will be the year you get your act together.
This is what I call the productivity pre-game.
It’s a phenomenon most noticeable in late August, that awkward liminal stretch between too-hot afternoons and cooler mornings, when you suddenly feel the need to overhaul your systems, realign your priorities, and optimize your time like you're about to run a hedge fund instead of a family or a freelance schedule.
The productivity pre-game is seductive. It smells like eucalyptus. It feels like control.
But eventually, inevitably, comes the productivity hangover.
The crash after the sprint
You know the feeling. It’s two weeks into your new system. You’ve colour-coded your Google Calendar, batch-cooked something ambitious, set boundaries with at least one toxic obligation, and bought a whiteboard that now leans, slightly crooked, against your office wall. And yet, you feel... off.
Not burned out exactly. But brittle. Like your life is being managed by a slightly overzealous intern who keeps trying to win Employee of the Month.
We don’t talk about this enough.
That undercurrent of fatigue that follows a burst of performative progress. The part where you did all the right things—scheduled, sorted, set goals—and still don’t feel the click of real change.
That’s the hangover. And it’s not your fault.
You were never meant to be this efficient
Let’s call it what it is: we’ve built a culture that confuses busyness with effectiveness and organization with worth. If you’re not optimizing, are you even trying?
Somewhere along the way, productivity stopped being a means to an end and became the end itself. A lifestyle. A brand. A personality trait. We admire the efficient. We reward the relentless. We worship the morning routine.
But here’s the problem. Productivity is a tool. Not a destination. And it’s a terrible stand-in for meaning.
I’ve spent entire weeks crossing things off my list only to feel further from what I care about. I’ve answered emails with the speed of a call centre agent on Red Bull. I’ve set up dashboards that look impressive and do absolutely nothing but remind me that I like fonts.
I’ve also spent whole days moving one idea around in my head and written something I’m proud of. No checkboxes. No metrics. Just real work, done slowly.
Guess which one looked better on paper?
When the systems start to system you
Productivity systems are useful until they start running the show. Until they make you feel like you’re behind at life if you’re not doing quarterly reviews of your personal KPIs. Until every moment of unscheduled time starts to feel like failure.
Here’s a test: when was the last time you let yourself do nothing?
Not “nothing” like scrolling Instagram on your phone while watching a show you don’t like. Actual nothing. Sit-on-a-porch-and-stare nothing. The kind that feels awkward at first. The kind that might let a thought sneak in that wasn’t there before.
That’s the part we skip when we jump straight from summer haze to fall hustle. And it matters more than the new planner.
The lie of the fresh start
Every August, we are sold a false binary: be your best self or keep being a mess.
There’s no middle ground in marketing. No room for maybe you’re fine. Just a parade of branded wellness, faux minimalism, and lifestyle porn disguised as inspiration. Back to school, but for adults. You can be anything, as long as you buy the right system first.
But here’s the real flex: don’t fall for it.
Don’t let the end-of-summer panic push you into another life overhaul you don’t need. You are not a failed app that needs a reboot. You are not an Excel file to be reconciled.
You are a human person who is sometimes tired. Sometimes inspired. Often both.
And the only system that works long-term is one that makes space for that.
So what now?
If you’re in the middle of a productivity hangover—if your colour-coded life has started to feel like a straitjacket—take a beat.
Don’t fix it. Don’t rebrand. Don’t optimize your downtime.
Just stop. Let things be a little loose for a while.
Wander off script. Answer an email late. Go for a walk without your phone. Cancel the call and take the nap. Make something. Burn it. Laugh about it. Start again.
Let the season stretch without demanding it make you better.
You’re already allowed.