Are You Working? Or Just Scratching an Itch?
Why you keep “improving” instead of finishing
You’ve been “working on” the same project for three months.
The writer is on draft seventeen of the same essay. Each revision makes it “better,” but none feel done.
The developer keeps refactoring the codebase. The feature works, but the architecture could be “cleaner.”
The designer opens the portfolio site again. Just one more tweak to the spacing. One more font pairing to try.
The musician listens to the mix for the hundredth time. That snare could be punchier. The vocals could sit better. Just one more session.
Each work session feels productive. You’re solving interesting problems. Making real improvements. This is the creative process, right?
But here’s the uncomfortable question you’re avoiding:
Are you actually working? Or are you just scratching an itch?
The Two Paths to Nowhere
There are two fundamental ways to approach creative work.
The first path is finishing. You define what “done” looks like. You build toward that definition. You ship when you hit the mark. It’s efficient. It’s disciplined. It feels like traditional work.
The second path is exploring. You start with a rough idea and let it evolve through the process. You follow interesting tangents. You discover possibilities mid-flight. It burns more time, but it feels creative. Alive. Like art should feel.
Here’s what took me years to understand:
Most of us confuse the second path for “the creative process” when it’s actually just procrastination with style.
We’re not exploring. We’re stalling. And we’re very, very good at lying to ourselves about which is which.
The Dopamine Trap
Every time you solve an interesting problem, your brain releases a small hit of dopamine. That satisfying feeling of “I figured something out.”
Refactoring that messy code? Dopamine.
Tweaking the color palette for the fifth time? Dopamine.
Rewriting the introduction with a stronger hook? Dopamine.
Adjusting the reverb on that vocal track? Dopamine.
Your brain loves this. Problem → solution → reward. Problem → solution → reward.
But dopamine isn’t progress. It’s just your brain rewarding you for doing something that feels like progress.
And here’s the trap: Your brain doesn’t distinguish between “solving problems that move you toward done” and “solving problems because they’re interesting to solve.”
Both feel like work.
Both feel productive.
Both give you the dopamine hit.
Only one actually ships.
What You’re Really Optimizing For
Before I start any project now, I force myself to answer one question:
What am I optimizing for?
Am I optimizing to finish? Or am I optimizing to feel like I’m working?
Because those are fundamentally different goals. And if you’re not brutally honest about which one you’re actually pursuing, you’ll burn months on a project that should have shipped in weeks.
Let me show you what this looks like in practice.
The Three Categories (And How We Lie About Them)
I started sorting my creative work into three categories. Not because I love frameworks, but because without categories, everything becomes “I’m just trying to make it good.”
And “trying to make it good” is where unfinished work goes to die.
Category 1: Professional Work (Must Ship)
The client needs the website by Friday.
The editor needs the article by deadline.
The product manager needs the feature for the sprint review.
There’s a clear deliverable. Someone else is waiting. The definition of “done” exists outside your head.
For this work:
Define done upfront (in writing, with the stakeholder)
Build to that spec
Ship when you hit it
No “but what if we tried...” unless it’s explicitly in scope
The lie we tell ourselves:
“I’m just making sure it’s really good before I send it.”
The truth:
You’re afraid it won’t be good enough, so you’re hiding behind “one more improvement” instead of facing the possibility of criticism.
Category 2: Passion Projects (Exploration Conditional)
The album you’re making for yourself.
The essay no one asked you to write.
The side project that exists because you want it to exist.
There’s no external deadline. No client waiting. The project is its own justification.
For this work:
Some exploration is the point (that’s why it’s a passion project)
But you still need to define what “done” means before you start
“Done when it feels right” is not a definition—it’s permission to never finish
The lie we tell ourselves:
“I’m exploring possibilities. That’s what creative work is.”
The truth:
You’re enjoying the dopamine hits of solving interesting problems while avoiding the vulnerable act of declaring something finished and putting it into the world.
Category 3: Learning Projects (Iteration Expected)
You’re figuring out a new tool.
Experimenting with a new technique.
Building something specifically to understand how it works.
The output matters less than the process. You’re not trying to ship a product—you’re trying to acquire a skill.
For this work:
Iteration is the work (that’s the whole point)
Set a time cap, not a quality bar (”I’m spending two weeks learning this, then I move on”)
Accept that the output will be rough
The lie we tell ourselves:
“I need to really understand this before I use it in a real project.”
The truth:
You’re using “learning” as an excuse to avoid the discomfort of making something imperfect public.
The Real Problem: Category Confusion
The reason you can’t finish isn’t that you lack discipline or talent.
It’s that you treat professional work like a passion project. You treat passion projects like learning projects. You treat learning projects like they need to be professional quality.
You blur the categories. And when the categories blur, “done” becomes impossible to define.
So you keep working. Keep improving. Keep scratching the itch.
And nothing ships.
The Pattern Your Brain Is Running
Here’s what’s actually happening when you’re stuck in iteration hell:
Your brain has a prediction about what happens when you finish things.
Maybe it predicts harsh criticism.
Maybe it predicts indifference (which somehow feels worse).
Maybe it predicts that the work won’t live up to your vision.
Maybe it just predicts the uncomfortable void of “now what?”
So your brain creates resistance.
Not obvious resistance. Not “I don’t want to work on this.” That would be too easy to recognize.
It creates sophisticated resistance that disguises itself as conscientiousness:
“I’m just being thorough”
“I’m perfecting my craft”
“Real artists care about quality”
“I’m exploring the problem space”
“I need to make sure this is right”
All of these sound like virtues. None of them are about finishing.
And the longer you iterate without shipping, the more evidence your brain collects:
See? We’ve been working on this for three months and it’s still not good enough. Obviously we can’t finish it yet. Better keep improving it.
The prediction reinforces itself.
The loop tightens.
The work stays unfinished.
The Real Efficiency Question
The question isn’t “How do I work faster?”
The question isn’t “How do I stop procrastinating?”
The question is: “Am I being honest about what I’m actually doing here?”
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:
If you’re on your third complete redesign of a website that was perfectly functional after the first one—you’re not “perfecting your craft.” You’re scratching an itch.
If you’re rewriting the same chapter for the fifth time because you’re “not happy with the voice yet”—you’re not “finding your style.” You’re avoiding finishing.
If you’ve spent three weeks “making sure the architecture is right” before writing a single line of user-facing code—you’re not “being thorough.” You’re procrastinating with purpose.
If you’ve adjusted the same mix seventeen times and each time it sounds “almost there”—you’re not “developing your ear.” You’re stuck in a dopamine loop.
Some creative iteration is valuable. Most is self-deception.
The hard part is knowing which is which.
What Changed for Me
I started implementing a simple rule before beginning any work:
Decide the category. Set constraints based on the category. Don’t switch categories mid-project.
Sounds simple. It’s brutally hard in practice.
For Professional Work:
Before I start, I write down (actually write, with a pen):
What “done” looks like (specific, concrete, verifiable)
When it’s due
What’s explicitly out of scope
Then I tape that to my monitor. When I start thinking “but what if I just...”, I look at the paper.
If “what if I just...” isn’t on the “done” list, I don’t do it. Not because I lack creativity. Because I made a promise about what this project is.
For Passion Projects:
Before I start, I define my completion condition:
NOT “when it feels right” (that’s permission to never finish)
NOT “when it’s perfect” (that’s a fantasy)
Something concrete: “When I’ve explored three variations and picked one” or “When I’ve worked on this for 20 hours total” or “When I can play it through without cringing”
Then I set a review date. On that date, I assess: Am I done according to my definition? If yes, I ship. If no, I ask: Am I still doing valuable exploration, or am I just scratching an itch?
If I can’t answer that question immediately, I’m scratching an itch.
For Learning Projects:
I set a time cap upfront. Not a quality bar. A time limit.
“I’m spending 10 hours learning this framework, then I’m building something with it—even if it’s ugly.”
When the time’s up, I stop. I document what I learned. I move on.
The output doesn’t need to be portfolio-quality. It needs to exist as evidence that I learned something.
When You’re Lying to Yourself
Here’s how to catch yourself in the act.
You’re scratching an itch (not working) when:
You can’t articulate what “done” looks like in one sentence
You’ve been “almost done” for more than two weeks
You keep finding “one more thing” that needs fixing
You’re working on parts that don’t block shipping
You feel productive but nothing moves closer to complete
You get more dopamine from the process than dread from not shipping
You avoid showing anyone because “it’s not ready yet” (but you can’t define what “ready” means)
You’re actually working (not just scratching) when:
You can state the completion condition clearly
Each work session moves measurably toward that condition
You feel mild discomfort (because you’re approaching the threshold)
You’re working on the scary parts (the ones that determine if it ships)
You’re making decisions that close off options (not keeping everything “flexible”)
The difference isn’t always obvious. But if you’re honest for even five seconds, you know which one you’re doing.
The Ritual: The Itch Audit
Next time you catch yourself “just making this a little better” on a project you’ve already been working on for weeks, do this:
Step 1: Stop
Literally stop what you’re doing. Close the file. Step away from the screen.
You’re not taking a break to refresh. You’re interrupting a pattern.
Step 2: Name What You’re Optimizing For
Get a piece of paper. Write at the top:
“What am I actually optimizing for right now?”
Then write, by hand (typing doesn’t work the same way—you need the friction):
What “done” actually looks like for this specific project (one concrete sentence)
What I’m afraid will happen if I ship it now (be specific—”people will think it’s bad” is too vague. “My college roommate will see it and think I haven’t grown as a writer” is specific.)
What I’m getting from continuing to iterate instead of shipping (Dopamine? Safety? The feeling of being productive? The identity of being “someone who works on interesting things”?)
If you can’t answer all three questions in under five minutes, you’re scratching an itch.
Step 3: Make a Choice
You have three options. Pick one. Right now.
Option A: Commit to finishing within 48 hours
Define “done” (write it down)
Set a deadline (specific date/time)
Tell someone (creates external accountability)
Work only on what’s required to hit that definition
Ship when you hit it, even if you still have ideas
Option B: Admit you’re not trying to finish
That’s fine—but call it what it is
Rename the project from “working on X” to “exploring ideas related to X”
Set a time cap (”I’m giving this three more hours of exploration, then I decide”)
Stop telling yourself or others that you’re “almost done”
Option C: Kill the project
Some things shouldn’t be finished
If you can’t commit to A and you’re tired of B, choose C
Delete the files, archive the folder, close the tab
Grieve briefly, then move on
You’re not a failure—you’re making an active choice
The only wrong choice is lying to yourself that you’re “working on it” when you’re really just keeping it alive as a source of comfortable dopamine.
Step 4: Set a Pattern Interrupt
If you chose Option A (finish in 48 hours):
Create a physical reminder that you’re in “finish mode, not explore mode”:
Put a sticky note on your screen that says “SHIP MODE”
Set an alarm for every 2 hours that asks “Does this move me toward done?”
Every time you think “but what if I also...” write it on a separate “ideas for v2” document (then forget about it until after you ship)
If you chose Option B (honest exploration):
Set a timer for your exploration cap. When it goes off, you run this ritual again. No extensions.
If you chose Option C (kill it):
Write one sentence about what you learned. Then delete everything. Don’t keep it “just in case.” Keeping it around is just another form of the itch.
The Uncomfortable Part
Some of your “creative process” is actually creative procrastination.
You’re not building the thing. You’re building the feeling of building the thing.
You’re not writing the essay. You’re maintaining the identity of “someone who’s working on an essay.”
You’re not finishing the album. You’re experiencing the satisfying sensation of solving interesting audio problems.
You’re not shipping the feature. You’re enjoying the intellectual puzzle of elegant architecture.
And that’s okay—as long as you’re honest about it.
If you’re genuinely exploring, if the process itself is the point, if you’re learning something valuable from the iteration—fine. Just don’t call it “working on a project.” Call it what it is: exploration, learning, play.
But if you want to finish what you start, you have to recognize the pattern.
You have to catch yourself in the act of scratching the itch and pretending it’s work.
Pattern Recognition, Not Productivity
This isn’t about working harder.
It’s not about better time management.
It’s not about developing more discipline or willpower.
It’s about recognizing the pattern your brain is running:
Your brain predicts that finishing = vulnerability.
So it creates sophisticated resistance disguised as conscientiousness.
You keep “improving” instead of shipping.
The pattern reinforces itself.
The ritual interrupts the pattern by forcing honesty:
What am I actually optimizing for?
Am I working, or scratching an itch?
Can I define “done” right now, or am I keeping it vague on purpose?
Most productivity advice tells you to work smarter. To manage your time better. To build better habits.
This is different.
This is asking: Are you lying to yourself about what you’re actually doing?
Because if you are, no amount of productivity optimization will help you finish.
You’ll just get better at scratching the itch efficiently.
The Next Time You’re “Almost Done”
The next time you’re three months into a project that should have taken three weeks:
The next time you’re on your seventeenth revision of something that was fine six revisions ago:
The next time you catch yourself saying “I just need to...” for the fortieth time:
Stop.
Ask yourself: Am I working, or am I scratching an itch?
If you can answer immediately, you know which it is.
If you can’t answer immediately, you’re scratching an itch.
One ships. One doesn’t.
You get to choose which one you’re doing.
You just have to be honest about it.
Vestibule is a newsletter about creative thresholds and the patterns that keep us stuck. Written by Nathan, author of Nine Rituals to Finish What You Started: A Creative’s Guide to Breaking the Threshold.