How To Tackle a Project Without Getting Overwhelmed #1 : Flooring

Over the years, quite a few people have told me they didn't know how to tackle a project without getting overwhelmed in the process. From flooring to roofing to cleaning out a cluttered closet, it didn't matter. They'd look despairingly at the complexity of the task confronting them...stick their heads in the sand like so many ostriches...and procrastinate endlessly.

These conversations usually began with someone marveling, "Ghost, how did you do that?"

Okay. Now it's my turn to quit procrastinating. This is the first Hub in what is expected (over time) to become a series of How To pieces that focus not just on the project itself but on how I avoided getting my spirit crushed along the way.

The topic today is flooring, but not the relatively simple task of slapping tiles down in a new, never-lived-in home.

Pam and I've been living in the Border Fort since June of 2010, but there is much left to do for the home's interior. Part of that involved the floor in the kitchen. The flooring system is simplicity itself: Bare dirt covered by a layer of 6mm black plastic moisture-and-dirt barrier...covered by a layer of OSB strand board...covered by a layer of 3/8" interlocking rubber tiles. Everything is loose lay.

However, I undercalculated the number of tiles that would be needed for the entire house back in 2009. We ran out of rubber about the time the checkbook started looking a bit rubbery itself...and roughly 3/8 of the kitchen floor (the last to be covered) remained undone for the past 18 months.

Yesterday, it was time to finally finish the kitchen floor. A small pallet containing 20 new rubber tiles sat waiting outside the house. I had no excuses left.

Time to get to work.

Staring at the section of kitchen needing the work was enough to make a gargoyle barf. The existing flooring is a gray-dusty color, which these rubber tiles acquire within a day or two after even rigorous damp-mopping in our country setting. Pam loves the composition of this material for cushioning underfoot (and for when she falls, which happens every now and then)...but hates the way it it shows even the slightest hint of dust (let alone real dirt).

Which means we'll be adding another layer of "something" over the rubber someday. Happy wife, happy life.

To understand the "shows everything" syndrome, all you need to know is that these tiles are made from recycled tires. A jet-black rubber tire touching the pavement even once...is no longer jet black. Same thing here.

But...how to tackle this mess? It's not all just a problem with a dusty floor, but....

Here, take a look.

There was plenty of clutter to provide intimidation. From the scrap rubber tile pieces scattered over the subflooring wood (to give us something to walk on these past 18 months)...to the cat-hair-covered little green rocker-recliner currently occupied by Kitten Precious...to the "buried" table...yeah.

I could hesitate, facing that. In fact, I did hesitate.

Should I clean everything, get the room squared away before applying the rubber tiles. Eh? Eh?

Nope. Not a chance.

Since I tend to think in military terms, it was easy to look at the next step as establishing a beachhead. I picked a spot in the center of the room, the precise place where it would take the least work to clear rubber scraps (and nothing else of any size) out of the way. Just enough for the placement of one tile, mind you.

Of course, there was plenty of dust, sawdust, and cat hair to sweep up. Gotta do that.

The chosen mini-area was also "key" in that the first tile placed would not require any trimming of edges. Must must must get something done! Fast! Never let 'em see you flinch!

Talking about my internal gremlins here, of course. Those little buggers are really hawkeyed flinch-spotters. If you don't beat them about the head and shoulders with little bits of accomplishment as your weapon of choice, they'll get you every time.

Thankfully, the new tile snapped right into place, and I had my beachhead. Nearly nine more square feet of kitchen floor was now covered.

Awesome!

We can learn a lot from water and air. Both take the path of least resistance every single time...yet both get a lot done over time. Following such a path, water can create a Grand Canyon. Air can blow in rain to grow crops or a blizzard to bury the land under layers of snow.

For Ghost, the path of least resistance in the matter of rubber flooring tile placement appeared to be straight ahead, ending with the column of new pieces terminating at the temporary pantry shelving. As it happened, that also cut the room into two distinctly separate sections.

We had now, without really putting any planning into it, cut the remaining size of the project into two projects. Which was what Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer attempted to do at the Battle of the Greasy Grass in 1876. Never mind that he failed in his attempt to divide the massive encampment of Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapahoe people that day.

Getting shot off your horse in the middle of the river will chop you down to size pretty quick-like.

All right, I admit it: Custer is not my favorite historical character. And dang, why did I just cast myself in his role, attacking the kitchen flooring job?

Good thing OSB strand board, piles of dishes, and assorted canned goods don't generally shoot back.

Even so, the strategy--if you've got it to do--is still sound. The two successfully separated halves of uncovered kitchen sublooring really did look more manageable.

The lefthand room section was clearly an easier task to tackle without getting overwhelmed. After all, lifting the cat-hairy little rocker-recliner out of the way wasn't difficult, and the stuff behind it didn't take long to dispose of and/or stash elsewhere.

So, duh, I got going on that corner of the room next.

By the time the last photo (above) was taken, very little daylight remained. It was after six p.m., and while I don't really mind working by flashlight (we've not yet installed any permanent lighting in the kitchen), there were Hub-Pressures to consider.

That is, firing up the computer at that hour, moderating comments on my Hubs (an absolute must), writing a new Hub (an absolute must), and checking my email (another absolute must)...it'd be unlikely I'd manage to shut off the generator and head for bed prior to 4:00 a.m. So....

Time to pick up the tools, put the chair (and a cooler) back in the newly floored corner, and get to keyboarding.

In other words, pace yourself. Back in the day, I'd have been dumb enough to try finishing the entire flooring project in one session or else.

See ya in the a.m.

Day Two. First things first: Some fancy measuring and cutting to place the final tile in the northwest corner and the itty bitty rectangle next to Pam's bedroom door.

One of the sneakiest techniques used against us mere mortals by the Overwhelm Overlords is the Inclusion Trap.

How does that work, you ask?

Ah, 'tis an elegant thing, laddie! (Or lassie, as the case may be.) In the case of yon kitchen flooring project, we have a most excellent example. See that table, piled high with crowded clutter of glasses and plates and pots and pans, even a teakettle and a can of coffee? You do?

Well, that table needs to be...squared away. Every item on top of that thing needs to be rewashed (except for the can of coffee and the strikers, obviously) and...put somewhere else. Spring cleaning in the month of January.

The Overwhelm Overlords (an ancient organization) would have me clear the clutter from the top of that table before laying tile in that area. Tricky beings, they be.

Not falling for it. Nuh-uh. No way.

Careful lifting so that only one table leg touches the floor...followed by a pivot...repeat the maneuver with a different leg...and there you have it. The table is moved over onto flooring that's already in place. Save the table project for another day.

Get to tiling, Ghost.

The "baby steps" approach to whomping the FOO (Flooring Overwhelm Overlords) can thus be broken down as follows:

1. Facing the project without visible fear. Never let 'em see you sweat.

2. Pick a spot and establish a beachhead.

3. Follow the path of least resistance that will allow you to move forward. (Quitting doesn't count.)

4. Know when to knock off for the day without beating yourself up about it.

5. The very next day, pick up where you left off...or else.

6. Avoid the inclusion trap.

Probable next topic in this series: Bathtub.