The Urge. That compulsion clawing at you. A familiar friend. Gnawing at you to do something you know you shouldn’t.
Yesterday was Conf day. And countless times I found myself checking Slack, X, YouTube — scanning for any reaction, any mention at all, to the little demo I helped bring to life on the main stage.
This morning, the pull is back. Not anxiety. Not nerves. Just curiosity.
Just check.
Who would it hurt? Ten seconds, tops. The little devil on your shoulder, sharp suit, smooth talk, negotiating terms non-stop.
Arena
The Urge comes in all forms. Rarely the big things. Usually the small ones. For me, right now, it’s just checking feeds, clearing a couple of red bubbles. But it could be anything.
And here’s the thing: the size of the impulse isn’t the point. It’s that I know, in this moment, it’s not what I should be doing. Not yet.
Right now I need Output Before Input. I need my morning routine. I need to make before I consume. Because I know I am better for it.
And in the grand scheme of things, even in the mild scheme of things, two minutes of peeking won’t matter. Maybe. But the Urge always circles back.
At work, when you’re in flow but the meeting reminder pops up. At home, when you finish one bag of snacky snack and immediately reach for another — with the crinkled empty bag still in your hand. At dinner, when you're supposed to be spending time with your family not your screen. Again. Always again.
There’s always that something — immediate, impulsive, suddenly more important. You throw yourself at it with your whole self, and leave a mess in your wake. Chaos. Damage. A 15-minute speed run mutates into an unexplained 2-day sprint, splintered into 13 rabbit holes and 47 failed attempts. And none of it documented. No map. No receipts. Just wreckage. Carnage. Was it worth it? (It’s never worth it.)
That’s why the practice matters. It isn’t just doing the “right” thing. It’s putting in reps in the arena with the Urge. It’s learning how to hold your ground when the Urge swings — learning how to hold your ground when it swings, to step into the ring again and keep standing.
Itch
The Urge has a cousin — brighter, almost helpful. The Itch.
The Itch is what happens when something won’t leave you alone. A problem that nags you until you can’t take it anymore.
Your keys never have a home, always vanishing when you’re already late.
That one tiny workflow bug in your product — small but maddening — echoing like a dripping faucet in the quiet bathroom down the hall.
The Itch builds and builds until you snap. The “that’s it!” moment.
You drive to the nearest big box store to buy a key holder, because ordering from Amazon would take too long, and right now even one-day shipping is a slowness you cannot stand for.
And because you did it — because you scratched it — things get better. Until next time, anyway.
Box
For me, the best tool I’ve found to wrestle with these little monsters is timeboxes. Do the good thing for 30 minutes, then sneak the bad thing for two. That’s the deal.
And here’s the trick: as the clock creeps toward thirty, you stretch it. Five more. Ten more. Spin procrastination against itself. Sometimes the devil on your shoulder sighs and wanders off. Other times it doubles down, screaming through a megaphone. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you cave. And that’s okay.
Because the Urge doesn’t give a damn about your timer. You want a clean chess match, but it staggers in with a broken bottle looking for a bar fight. No rules. No order. Just chaos. The Urge is a liar, plays dirty, infamously punctual, and outrageously persistent. Which means it’s on you to plant your feet. To hold when you can. To claw for every second you get.
The work isn’t perfection. The work is awareness — the guts to step into the ring at all, and the grit to come back after you’ve been knocked flat. Some days you win a round. Other days you spiral, miss dinner, lose hours, leave wreckage you don’t want to admit. That’s part of the fight too. What matters is stepping back in tomorrow, carrying the scars, a little steadier, a little sharper.
Gloves on.
Elbows up.
Dance
The Urge never really goes away. But that doesn’t make it the enemy. The Urge is proof you’re alive, that you want. It’s energy — messy, inconvenient, loud — but energy you can learn to shape.
And every time you notice it, every time you step into the arena, you get a little sharper. A little steadier. A little more you.
Desire dancing with discipline.
That’s the work. Not killing the Urge. But learning how to move with it — The Devil's Dance.