When we’re done lying to ourselves, delete it

A backlog is a list of tasks required to support a larger strategic plan.

It’s an accumulation of uncompleted work.

And whether it’s a physical stack sitting out on our poorly constructed shelves, or some kind of digital record, the premise is the same.

We tell ourselves a story about how the backlog isn’t that big and we’ll get to it eventually. Or we tell ourselves the story that there is always more work than we have time for, so by prioritizing things as maybe laters and nice to haves, that makes us discerning and productive.

Ask anyone who ever worked for a tech company. When someone says, we’ll put it in the backlog, that’s code for, we don’t want to do your shitty idea, but we don’t want to say no to it either.

Well, at least we score optimism and positivity points.

But the reality is, most backlogs accomplish little else besides raising stress and collecting dust. They’re digital piles of shame. Long lists of reasons to beat ourselves up.

Kondo writes about this practice her famous productivity book. The best way to choose what to keep and what to throw away is to take each item in your hand and ask, does this spark joy? If it does, keep it. If not, dispose of it.

She says this is not only the simplest, but also the most accurate yardstick by which to judge. Because some things will never inspire joy, no matter how carefully you keep them. And that’s okay.

Imagine living in a space that contains only things that cause us to feel a thrill of joy when we touch them. Kondo was talking about personal closet space, but the same principle can be applied to our digital workspaces.

Here’s an exclusion checklist you can use, both for your own workflow, and for larger company processes, to tidy things up.

Is this idea no longer applicable because we’re a different company with different needs?
Kill the damn thing.

Are we only keeping this project around because of our inability to ignore sunk costs?
Delete it right now.

To what degree is this task fueled by guilt, fear and shame?
If the answer is more than fifty percent, then it’s got to go.

Is this request so old that we can’t remember who requested it and why?
Goodbye.

Is the technical debt we’ve accumulated no longer justifiable in light of our new goals?
Into the trash it goes.

Are we creating a fascinating but false technical debt narrative about how this idea will improve performance?
When we’re done lying to ourselves, delete it.

Has the project been around so long that the original owners are long gone and the current team has no context or energy?
Don’t waste a minute more.

Is this task reasonable, useful and well written, but realistically not going to be completed in the next year?
Fair enough, now kill the damn thing.

This exclusion checklist may sound harsh, but sometimes it’s the only way to fight the cultural gravity, situational pressure and cognitive biases that backlogs tend to create.

Think of it this way. Imagine opening your closet door, thumbing through your wardrobe, and thinking:

You know what? I haven’t worn my purple sequin tube top since college. It doesn’t fit my adult body, it embarrasses my children, and I’m pretty sure it violates an indecent exposure law that’s punishable for three months in jail and up to a five hundred dollar fine for public lewdness. Time to cast this frock to the stoop and pass it down to the next generation. Let someone else dress like a whore, I’ve got more meaningful things to do with my time.

Now that sounds like enlightenment to me. The backlog can be a beautiful thing from an organizational standpoint, but once it eclipses our ability to keep up with it, it stops being a list and starts being an albatross.

We don’t need another dumping grounds for mediocre ideas from two years ago.

We need the space to think about what’s most important, and the energy to execute against it, and the support to do so effectively and efficiently.

Is your digital pile of shame moving your story forward, or raising stress and collecting dust?