Fortunately for moi, lots of people need this book. They walk among us every day, dropping their phones in toilets, forgetting to pay bills, going to job interviews dressed like Frenchy from Rock of Love season two. Such folks include but are not limited to: your friends, family members, classmates, and coworkers; total strangers; and one guy who asked me to send a free autographed copy of my first book to him in Morocco because he can’t find it there and also can’t afford return postage. That guy needs a straight-up one-on-one tutorial.
But no matter who you are, let it be known that not having your shit together doesn’t automatically make you a bad person.
True, Justin Bieber doesn’t have his shit together and odds are he’s a bona fide jackwagon, but that’s a special case. (Call me, Justin!) For most of us, not having our shit together is merely an inconvenient state of being, not a true character flaw. And the good news is that unlike other potentially unsavory states of being, such as “too short” or “from Texas,” it can be altered without steel rods or forged birth certificates.
So who are you and in what ways is your shit lacking togetherness? Let’s take a look at that spectrum, by way of three recognizable cultural archetypes known as “Alvin and the Chipmunks.”*
The youngest of the performing chipmunk brothers, Theodore is sweet, agreeable, and naïve. He’s along for the ride, but never, ever in the driver’s seat. Like Theodore, some people just can’t get it together, period. Full stop. They’re constantly spilling on themselves (and others), losing their (and other people’s) possessions, and making life far more difficult for themselves (and everybody else) than it needs to be.
These are the folks—however nice and well-intentioned they may be—who are chronically late, underprepared, and overwhelmed. They have to open their suitcases at the airline check-in desk to take out two pairs of shoes, a souvenir mug, and a jar of beach sand that caused their bags to exceed the weight limit. Then they have to frantically figure out how to get this stuff on the plane before everybody in line behind them revolts. If you are a Theodore, fear not—every day doesn’t have to be an epic battle. Read on.
The eldest chipmunk is fun and he talks a good game, but he doesn’t plan very far ahead, which frequently gets him into trouble. Alvin’s kind of a “fake it till you make it” guy, where the ratio of making it to not making it is weighted toward the latter. When the going gets tough, it’s usually his own damn fault—and then he bails, initiating the famously exasperated “Allllllllvin!!!” refrain from his adoptive human dad/manager, Dave. (They’re a cartoon family; don’t overthink it.)
Alvins—the humans, not the chipmunks—skate by on the day-to-day stuff, but when it comes to doing shit on a larger scale, they falter. These people arrive home from a relatively productive day at work and make dinner in the microwave because the oven door has been broken for three months and they haven’t gotten around to dealing with it. Or they can totally manage a fantasy baseball team, but when it comes to planning for retirement it’s as though numbers and statistics cease to have meaning. Finally, Alvins make the rest of us—bosses, colleagues, friends, backup singers, etc.—nervous. We’re like He seems cool, but can he be trusted? Eventually the chances run out, the opportunities dry up, and you’re just another boy band casualty.
It doesn’t have to be this way. If you Alvins have your shit together a little bit, you can get your shit together for the big stuff, I promise. You’re just a dash of discipline and a pinch of willpower away from legendary baller status.
Finally, there’s Simon. Middle sibling, chess wizard, rocks glasses and a blue turtleneck. He’s always prodding Theodore, cleaning up after Alvin, and generally doing more for the family than Michael Corleone.
Simons are objectively industrious and successful and know how to operate a suitcase. In their fully functional, chef’s-quality ovens, they roast chickens on the regular. They plan elaborate shindigs, never say no to a friend in need, and are very, very good at Excel spreadsheets. Other people marvel at Simons, whose grace under fire is complemented by their perfectly matched belts, shoes, and handbags.
Yeah, Simons’ shit seems to be together… but under the surface, maybe it’s not.
We all know plenty of Alvins and Theodores. They’re not hard to spot—arriving fifteen minutes late to the meeting or calling frantically five minutes after that, because they just realized they have no idea where the meeting is to begin with.
Simons are harder. They’ve perfected the illusion of having their shit together, operating under the mistaken belief that being in demand, booked up, and perennially under the gun equals “winning.” They masquerade as busy little bees and perfectly productive overachievers—but their shit is on struggle mode even if you can’t see it.
I know this because I used to know one particular Simon very well:
Me.