The Rats Aren’t the Problem

We had rats. No, not in the mafia sense. And no, not in the cute, Ratatouille-Pixar kind of way. I mean real rats. Vermin.

Most people don't realize this, but Seattle has a serious rat problem. The city consistently ranks among the most rodent-infested in the U.S. Our particular unwelcome guests? Norway rats. Big, tough, sewer-dwelling escape artists that are frustratingly resilient.

It's not like our house is a pig sty. In fact, after last year's flood, we repainted the downstairs and installed brand-new carpet. We even have dogs and cats, which typically keep pests in check.

But for some reason, this winter, the rats claimed our basement as their kingdom. So we did what any rational people would do:

• We searched for and sealed every possible entry point inside the house.

• We moved all food out of reach.

• We set traps.

And within days, we caught not one, but two rats. Problem solved, right?

Not so fast.

We kept finding signs of them—fresh droppings in places we'd just cleaned, shredded tissue boxes, torn-up couch cushions. And our beautiful new carpet? Now adorned with no fewer than a dozen rat-sized holes scattered throughout.

So we set more traps. This time, we caught nothing. But the destruction continued.

At this point, it became personal. I escalated:

• Sticky traps.

• Outdoor bait stations.

• Ten different snap traps.

• Two "foolproof" bucket traps (according to the internet).

• Blink cameras to track their movements.

And still, time passed. The damage mounted. The rats stayed despite another casualty or two. After weeks of this escalating war, I had to stop and ask myself: Was I actually solving the problem, or just throwing more tools at it?

So this week, let's talk about problems—not just identifying them, but actually fixing them. Why we avoid the root cause even when we know what it is, what keeps us spinning in place, and how to finally move from knowing to doing.

The Execution Gap

When I finally called a professional exterminator about our rat problem, he didn't start by setting traps. Instead, he walked slowly around our house, paying particular attention to areas I hadn't spent a bunch of time on. After about fifteen minutes, he emerged from under our front porch. "I found your problem," he said. "They've burrowed under the foundation of the porch and also they've chewed a hole in the side of the house."

I'd spent weeks battling rats in the basement, but the pattern that really mattered was one I'd suspected but never prioritized addressing. I knew to check under the porch. I…uh…just never got around to it. Sometimes the biggest obstacle isn't knowledge, but execution.

This isn't just a rat thing. It shows up everywhere—in our work, our relationships, our health. We know what needs to change, but we still spin our wheels doing the wrong stuff.

• The employee who keeps missing deadlines knows they need a better system but keeps relying on memory like it won't fail them again

• The business owner knows they need to delegate but insists on doing everything themselves

• The person trying to get healthier knows their diet is the issue but keeps chasing the perfect workout instead

These aren't knowledge problems. They are follow-through problems. We fight symptoms because the real fix feels hard, messy, or uncomfortable.

The pest control guy didn't know anything I didn't. He just focused on what actually mattered. While I was buying more traps, he was under the porch, addressing the real problem.

And this goes way beyond rats. In business, the space between strategy and action is often the difference between progress and frustration. In relationships, we tiptoe around the hard conversation that could actually change everything. In personal growth, we keep collecting insight instead of doing the thing we've already identified.

Most of the time, the issue isn't a lack of clarity. It's doing the thing we already know matters.

Why We Avoid What We Know Needs Doing

The exterminator made more progress on our rat problem in one afternoon than I had in three weeks of surveillance, gadgets, and snapping plastic. So why didn't I just look under the dang porch sooner?

Honestly? It wasn't laziness. It wasn't that I didn't know better. It was something more familiar—and more frustrating.

First, we crave visible progress. Setting traps in the basement felt productive. I could see results. (Well, at least early on. Poor one out for rats #1 and #2.) But pulling bins out from under the porch? Crawling through dirt and spider webs on a hunch? Not fun. It felt like a gamble. So I stuck with the stuff that felt productive, even if it wasn't. There's something weirdly satisfying about doing the wrong thing really well.

Second, we're afraid of what we'll find. There was a part of me that didn't want to know what was going on under the porch. What if it was bad? Like, foundation-level bad? What if fixing it meant tearing out the porch or rebuilding something? It felt safer—psychologically, at least—to avoid it.

Third, we confuse "complex" with "effective." I had convinced myself this was an advanced rat situation. Like I was dealing with a rogue cabal of hyper-intelligent vermin. I spent hours in deep conversation with ChatGPT, trying to out-strategize creatures that like to chew on walls for fun. I bought and tested just about every rat-catching device on the market—snap traps, electric traps, spinning bucket traps, ultrasonic thingamajigs. The idea that it might all come down to one small hole in the siding? It felt almost insulting. Too simple to be right.

And finally, we discount the cost of delay. Every day I didn't check the porch, more damage was happening. The longer I waited, the worse it got. But because the problem wasn't screaming at me, I kept putting it off. I underestimated the price of doing nothing.

We do this all the time. We avoid the hard thing, the boring thing, the uncomfortable thing. But the stuff we don't want to deal with? That's usually where the real progress hides. It's not glamorous, but it's where the rats are getting in. And until we patch that hole, no amount of traps will solve the problem.

Bridging the Knowing-Doing Gap

So how do you actually make the jump from knowing to doing? How do you stop chasing symptoms and finally deal with the real problem?

Start by making the invisible visible. The exterminator wasn't smarter than me. He just had a process. He knew where to look. I jumped straight to traps. He started with a full inspection. Frankly, that's what I should've done. Create systems that force you to slow down and think. Make a checklist. Walk the perimeter. Zoom out before zooming in.

Lower the bar to get started. Root-cause work feels big and annoying. That's why we put it off. Instead of "check under the porch," I could've told myself, "Shine a flashlight under there for a minute or two." Same idea, way less resistance. Make it stupidly easy to start.

Build in accountability. Say it out loud. Tell someone. Put it on the calendar. If I had told my wife, "I'm checking under the porch on Saturday," guess what? I probably would've checked under the porch on Saturday. Not because I suddenly became braver, but because I wouldn't want to explain why I didn't.

Measure the right thing. I celebrated catching a couple rats like I was winning. Meanwhile, the problem was getting worse. I was tracking the wrong thing. Instead of counting effort, count results. No new droppings. No holes in the carpet. That's the scoreboard that matters.

This stuff isn't sexy. It's not flashy. But it works. These small shifts can break the cycle of overthinking, under-doing, and constantly fighting the same fires.

Conclusion: From Knowledge to Action

As I write this, our basement has been rat free for a few weeks. No traps. No shredded cushions. No new holes. Just peace.

And the fix? It wasn't fancy. It wasn't high-tech. It appears to be the thing I'd been avoiding all along. Most of the time, we're not stuck because we don't know what to do. We're stuck because we haven't done the thing we already know matters.

So if you're circling the same problem again and again, try asking yourself one question:

What am I avoiding that I already know needs to be done?

It might feel uncomfortable. It might feel small. But it's probably the next right step. Cause sometimes, the smartest move isn't setting more traps. It's getting on your hands and knees and finally looking under the porch.

As always, thanks for reading,
Derek
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