How to Turn Everything Into a To-Do (Not Recommended)
About expectations, good ideas, and the things that nourish us
I go for a walk almost every day.
I discovered walking outdoors when my kids were little and slept best in a stroller. What began as a means to an end gradually became something I genuinely looked forward to. The more often I did it, and the longer my walks became, the more they turned into a welcome break.
Because no matter how tangled my thoughts are when I head out—and no matter how convinced I am that this time it won’t happen—the knot almost always begins to loosen. One step at a time.
And then something else happens. Something that nearly became my undoing.
I get really good ideas.
Small ones, like the opening line for my next article, the perfect response to a friend’s voice message, or an idea for what I might want for my birthday.
And occasionally, much bigger ones.
Like realizing that The Ocean Says Hi wasn’t supposed to become a T-shirt shop after all, but a Substack newsletter.
“Aha,”
my curiosity observed one day.
“Now that’s interesting.
There’s something I already do, something that feels good—and it comes with this wonderful side effect.”
That was enough to wake up the strategist in me.
“So if I go for a walk,” she reasoned, “I could put that to use.”
Before long, she started sending me out with an assignment:
Bring home the next great idea.
I can’t blame her.
It was a clever move.
And at first, it seemed harmless.
Until the observation turned into an expectation.
At first it felt like a quiet sigh.
Then like pressure in my ears underwater.
Eventually it felt like one of those phone calls you keep avoiding.
The walk changed from something done for its own sake into something that was supposed to produce a result.
The walking hadn’t changed.
The route hadn’t changed.
The fresh air hadn’t changed.
Only my expectation had.
A few days ago, the strategist and I had a good conversation. I sat her down the same way I sit down with one of my children: Strong back. Open heart.
I told her that her discovery was a good one.
And I admitted “yes, some of our best ideas find us during moments of leisure.”
“But,” I explained, “the moment we start expecting something, our relationship to the thing itself begins to change.”
Sometimes we ruin the very things that nourish us by turning them into tools.
And then we lose the very gift they had to offer.
It happens when we read only to learn.
It happens when we journal only to become better writers.
It happens when we play with our children only to teach them something.
It happens when we exercise only to look better.
How do you know when you've started doing something only in order to...?
I’m heading outside now.
To just go for a walk.
Solvitur ambulando!
Thank you for sharing your journey and walk with us.