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184 | UNFINISHED BUSINESS – WHY NOT FINISHING THINGS IS COSTING YOU MORE THAN YOU KNOW

  • 22 hours ago
  • 10 min read

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY

The McCommitments – The Scottish Saviours of Soul

Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task. William James

In last week’s show, 183 FIVE LESSONS ABOUT LIFE AND TRUST WE CAN LEARN FROM THE TRAITORS, I was looking at behaviour under pressure, using the TV show The Traitors as a lens. What interested me wasn’t the show itself, but the behaviour it exposes and how that in turn acts as a microcosm to reflect the real life and work that we experience.


This episode doesn’t move too far away from that because unfinished business creates the same conditions internally; uncertainty, drift, and stress.


Only this time, it’s happening inside our own head and our own work.


Most people don’t stop abruptly. They drift.


  • They don’t quit projects cleanly. They slow them down.

  • They don’t end commitments. They let them fade away.

  • They don’t decide they’re done. They just leave things open.


From the outside, this seems harmless. Sensible, even. But from the inside, it’s expensive.


Momentum isn’t usually lost in one dramatic failure. It leaks away through half-decisions, half-commitments, and half-endings.


TRYING LESS IS OFTEN SELF-PROTECTION

Making a movie is like building a house of cards in a wind tunnel. Terry Gilliam

I went into some of this in the first show of the season, but I need to come back to it because this is a fundamental issue for me personally. And I say that as someone who is productive. I get a lot done. More than most, maybe. But I find it increasingly difficult to get the drive, and the finances together, to make my own films anymore.


And the reason isn’t laziness. It’s experience.


I’ve simply had too many bad experiences.


I first noticed this years ago when I was working in theatre. I just stopped going to shows. Not because I didn’t love theatre, but because I’d seen too many dull, lifeless, badly thought-out productions. At a certain point, enthusiasm just gave up. I wasn’t avoiding theatre, I was protecting myself from more disappointment. More wasted hours bored out my brain by dull lifeless long and drawn out productions that thought they were clever. They weren’t. For the most part I’d seen it all before.


I see a similar issue now in my filmmaking.


As I’ve talked about before, including in my conversation with Ian O’Neill from the How They Did It: Filmmaking podcast, I find it harder to get projects off the ground as I get older. I have less energy, less enthusiasm, and less actual want to make a film, because I know, from experience, that it’s going to be a nightmare on some level. Usually on several levels.

Movies don’t get made by inspiration. They get made by solving problems, one after another. David Fincher

I know I sound like a broken record when I say this but I’ve never been backed by a funding body in this country. I’ve never even made it to the interview stage on a film application despite spending weeks and weeks on them and submitting my best work. Support exists in Scotland, but most of it is informal and comes from other filmmakers who are already stretched thin with their own work.


I’ve written 2 fully developed short films in the last year. I was able to write them because I didn’t have to rely on anyone else to help me. That part of the process was all on me. When I look at them now, though, near ready to go scripts, I don’t see creativity and fun and the glory of an audience enjoying them – I see obstacles.


I see the cost, every penny of which I’d have to raise myself.


I see a crowd funder Id have to build promote and manage for longer than is reasonable to raise a few quid that will never actually be enough. I see casting headaches, low-budget compromises, and awkward conversations. I see the fight for locations and them letting me down at the last minute. I see months of unpaid work. I see editing, sound, grading, keeping people informed, managing expectations.


And somewhere in all of that, I still have to direct the thing. Which in my experience is the one job I have really no time to prep so I end up flying by the seat of my pants sometimes.

 

And every time someone lets me down, which they inevitably do at some point, not everyone but some of the people involved in it for certain, and I have to step in and do that job as well. Throw into the mix a hijacker or two who try to steal your work or the glory, whilst giving little in return and every stage of filmmaking is just a pain in the tits.

If you recognise what I’m describing here, that’s good. Because this is something we don’t say enough. Making films is hard. Brutally hard. And without proper financial support, practical help, or guidance from people who’ve been through it, what you often end up with is a watered-down version of the thing you set out to make. If you’re lucky, there will be moments within it, that hold together and bring you a sense of it all being worthwhile. I’m obviously talking in filmmaking terms but this sort of thing is probably not sounding that unusual to other creatives that find themselves a little older.

I still find the drive to make these podcast seasons, but even they aren’t easy. The only reason I get them done is because they’re solo shows. I don’t have to coordinate with anyone else. I don’t have to manage expectations or wait on people. And even then, they’re still hard work.


My point in laying all this out here is that this isn’t a laziness issue. And it’s not a motivation problem.


Trying less is very often a response to accumulated disappointment.


And there is a term that did the rounds recently that touches this, although it was often badly explained and even more badly judged. It’s called quiet quitting.


The way it was framed by most was that people were lazy, disengaged, or gaming the system and that does happen but what I see far more often, when talking about our internal drive as creatives in particular, is people protecting themselves.


They haven’t stopped caring because they don’t want to work. They’ve stopped fully committing because commitment has burned them before. Quiet quitting, when you strip away the noise, isn’t about doing nothing. It’s about doing just enough to stay safe. Staying technically engaged while emotionally stepping back. And that doesn’t usually come from entitlement. It comes from disappointment.


We don’t consciously decide to disengage. We drift there. One small pullback at a time. Less exposure. Less risk. Less hope. Until trying hard feels reckless rather than virtuous. And once that pattern sets in, it doesn’t stay confined to our work. It bleeds into projects, relationships, goals, and creative ambition. Anywhere effort once mattered, but no longer feels safe.


When something hasn’t worked out the way you hoped - not once, but repeatedly - you don’t usually quit. You protect yourself. You reduce exposure. You stop fully committing, not because you don’t care, but because caring has started to cost too much.

People hedge. They keep things technically alive without really believing in them. And this is dangerous, because it often looks like responsibility. It looks real. It seems like caution. It looks and feels like being sensible. 


But underneath it is an unresolved loss of belief.

Ken Loach says “If you want an easy life, don’t make films.” And from where I am standing, I know exactly what he means.

UNFINISHED BUSINESS TRAINS BEHAVIOUR


Once our belief takes a hit, behaviour changes long before our decisions do.

Unfinished things don’t just sit in the background. They change how we approach the next thing.


Every half-finished project lowers our expectations. Every unresolved ending makes starting feel riskier. Every loose end teaches us, without us being aware of it, that effort doesn’t always lead anywhere.


The damage isn’t dramatic.


We don’t suddenly stop working but we hesitate.


We think longer before committing. We scale our ideas down and down and down again before we’ve tested them. We hold something back, just in case it goes the same way as the last few things.


  • Over time, we don’t just lose momentum.

  • We lose trust in our own follow-through.


And once that trust is gone, even good opportunities feel like a drag.

The chains of habit are too weak to be felt until they are too strong to be broken. Samuel Johnson

WHAT UNFINISHED THINGS ACTUALLY COST US


Hard work is tiring, but it’s clean.


We know where we stand with it. We can stop. We can rest. We can move on.

Unfinished things are different.


They don’t announce themselves. They linger.

They don’t demand attention. They interrupt it.


They sit at the edge of our focus and keep tapping away. Not loudly enough to demand action, but persistently enough to stop us settling. That’s what mental noise actually is. Not chaos, but interference.


We’re trying to concentrate on what’s in front of us, while part of our attention is being dragged sideways. A thought here. Another there. A sense that something is unresolved, unfinished, not quite dealt with and all of that creates emotional drag.


Not panic. Not urgency. But weight.


A low-level guilt that doesn’t have a clear source. A constant sense that we’re behind, even when nothing urgent is happening. Even when we’re doing exactly what we planned to do that day.


There’s a psychological reason for all this, and I’ve covered it in detail before on the show. It’s known as the Zeigarnik Effect. In simple terms, our brains keep unfinished tasks active. Completed ones fade into the background. Open loops stay switched on, whether we want them to or not.


Meaning that every unfinished thing is costing us attention.


That’s why half-finished projects intrude at random moments. Why unresolved conversations replay in our heads while we’re trying to work. Why abandoned ideas still feel like obligations rather than choices.


Nothing has gone wrong. Nothing is on fire.


But our attention is constantly being pulled away from what we are doing.

And it has a cumulative effect.


It slows us down. It makes thinking feel harder than it should. It turns simple decisions into tiring ones.

Where there is distraction, there is diminished power. James Clear

And the longer those loops stay open, the harder it becomes for us to start anything new with confidence, because part of us is already bracing for disappointment. If you recognise what I am talking about then you have felt this too. I find it easy to write about this stuff because it’s exactly what I feel like when I approach a new film.

 

ENDING THINGS PROPERLY


A lot of unfinished business exists for one very ordinary reason.

We don’t end things properly.


Not because we don’t know what finished looks like. But because ending things cleanly takes a decision we keep putting off.


Instead of finishing, we let things drift. Instead of stopping, we leave the door open. Instead of deciding, we keep things technically alive.


Projects slow down. Conversations fade. Ideas lose energy but never get closed.

There’s a basic cycle at work in any productive life: effort, completion, acknowledgement, reward.


That cycle is laid out very clearly in Your Best Year Yet, by Jinny Ditzler, but you don’t need the book to recognise it. You will already know it from experience.


When we finish something properly, there’s a natural moment of acknowledgement. We register that something has been done. That effort led somewhere – and that matters more than people realise.


When things are left open, that part of the cycle never happens.


There’s no sense of completion. No internal signal that says, “That’s finished.” No reward.


So, we keep putting effort in, but we never get a psychological return. And over time, that makes work feel more difficult than it should.


Finishing properly doesn’t always mean completing the original plan. Sometimes it means deciding that the plan no longer makes sense. Sometimes it means stopping deliberately instead of letting something limp on. Sometimes it means writing down what was learned and moving on.


What matters is clarity.


Clear endings close open loops. They allow the cycle to complete. They restore the link between effort and reward.


When we end things properly, our mental space clears. Attention comes back. Energy stabilises. And starting in the first place feels safer again - because we’re no longer dragging half-finished weight of one thing into the next.


Momentum doesn’t come from excitement. It comes from completion being recognised.

That’s how unfinished business stops draining us. And that’s how the work starts to feel worthwhile again.


NAMING THE PATTERN


What this episode has really been about is recognition.


Recognising how unfinished business doesn’t just sit there quietly, but changes how we work, how we decide, and how much we trust ourselves. Recognising that drifting isn’t laziness, hesitation isn’t weakness, and trying less is very often self-protection after disappointment.


Because for a lot of us, this hasn’t come from nowhere.


It’s come from years of effort that didn’t land the way we hoped.


  • Projects that stalled.

  • Work that cost more than it gave back.

  • Situations where enthusiasm was punished rather than rewarded.

  • Over time, that experience taught us to hold back. Not consciously. But because it felt like the right thing to do.


And once that pattern is in place, it starts to feel personal. Like a flaw. Like something is wrong with us. When in reality, it’s a learned response to things not working out. Or to hard work not rewarded.


Once you see that clearly, something shifts.


Because you can’t fix a pattern you haven’t named. And you can’t move forward while you’re still blaming yourself for how hard things have been.


Recognition is the first step out of this. A problem well stated is a problem halved.

Not forcing motivation. Not pushing harder.


Just seeing the pattern honestly, without judgement.


And once it’s named, it loses some of its power. Once it’s named, it stops being a weight we carry around with us, limiting our risk and weighing down our creative freedom, and becomes something we can actually deal with.


CALL TO ACTION


This week, don’t try to sort anything out. Just notice what you’re still carrying that hasn’t actually moved forward in a long time. Name it. Because once unfinished business is visible, it loses a lot of its power.


And that, on its own, is a step forward.


Thank you for listening to this episode of Film Pro Productivity. I genuinely appreciate you spending the time here with me, especially if some of this has landed close to home.


Next week, I’ll be looking at six productivity lessons from Warren Buffett, and why long-term clarity beats short-term intensity every single time.


I’ll end today with some words from Ernest Hemingway, who said: “The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”
unfinished business

Now, take control of your own destiny. Keep on shootin’ and join me next time on FILM PRO PRODUCTIVITY!


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THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY

The McCommitments – The Scottish Saviours of Soul.


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© 2018 Carter Ferguson - Film Pro Productivity

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