Deadlines work for me. They kick my arse into gear. I’m not saying I always keep to them, but for the most part I do. If not, I am not that far away.

The deadline is the strict headmistress that stands over me, rod in hand, about to deal out punishment if I don’t deliver as promised.

If one were to psycho-analyse this, it would probably come out that I have a few issues with discipline, control, fear… You name it. Maybe that is all true. However, I don’t really care or want to dwell on the whys and wherefores of why deadlines work for me.

In reality, it’s not the mistress that frightens me. Deep down, it’s just me. I want to make the deadline because I set high expectations for myself, and I don’t want to let myself down.

And so I look at that mistress as a gentle soul, not a frightening old cow. In essence, she is there to look after me, and remind me about what is important in my life. She wants me to feel a sense of accomplishment. She wants me to be proud of what I have done. She wants me to do good work. Quite simply, she wants me to get on with it.

And so, gentle friend, thank you for keeping me on task. Thank you for caring about my productivity, my creativity, and my happiness.

Because in the end, happiness is the result of keeping to the mistress’s timelines. She is more mother, and less mistress. She knows how to guide, cajole, and sometimes threaten in the quest to inculcate good working habits, and lift performance. She is a shepherdess keeping me from straying in the path of a wolf that will devour me. She does not want me to be alone at night, freezing and hungry.

As any good mother, she does this more for the child than for herself.

That is why I give thanks for the fear of not meeting deadlines. Fear is my friend.