Sometimes you get so caught up in new projects that you neglect the one that got you started in the first place.

Maybe it really is true: go back to the simple ways of doing things.

When your to-do list grows faster than you can cross things off, you know something’s off.

I’m a big fan of lists. Always have been. Why?

Because checking something off makes me feel like I’ve actually accomplished something.

Gave the dog her meds? Check. Worked out? Check.

Sometimes I wonder if writing it down even matters. Like, am I ever going to look back a year from now and scold myself for not working out on March 19, 2024? (Wait—what day of the week was that even?)

Still, there’s something satisfying about it.

Making the list takes time, sure. But for me, the little things always add up.

A full week of checked-off tasks gives me less anxiety. It’s a reminder that I’ve handled what needed to get done.

You mark down when bills are due, right? Or is that just me?

So what’s the science behind why lists feel so good? Maybe it’s that they turn chaos into order. They break the overwhelm into bite-sized wins.

I once heard a founder talk about doing something meaningful every quarter—and one big, defining thing every year. I love that.

It’s how you remember that in the summer of 2020, you did that thing. Because as you get older, the years start to blur together.

In fact, we should all be planning at least one life-defining thing per year.

For some, that’s travel—somewhere awe-inspiring, unfamiliar, or just wildly different.

For others, it’s ending a toxic relationship, finishing a degree, buying a house, making the final car payment.

It’s exciting to tie a whole year to a milestone.

One day, when you’re old and gray and your boobs are in your shoes, you’ll look back and smile at the list. Not because you finished everything. But because you showed up.

Because it was never just about the project or the finish line.

It’s about the journey. The process. The days you did the work when no one was watching.

Like finally being able to squat an obscene percentage of your body weight—not just because it’s impressive, but because it reminds you of every sweaty, unglamorous rep that got you there.

No one sees behind the curtain. The messy office. The greasy hair. The grind. The madness.

But when you make it, people call you lucky. Fortunate. Right place, right time.

Only you know the truth: that you picked up the metaphorical dumbbells every day.

Even when no one showed up. Even when no one cheered. Even when there was no promise of success.

Just you, doing the work that brings you joy, clarity, and peace.

That’s the stuff that matters.

Because when the past was worse—messy, painful, toxic and chaotic—you become deeply grateful for any forward motion.

The difficulties changed how you see. Forced you to open a new door. Sometimes even throw open a window.

And when you look back, what you see is a person who kept going.

Not perfectly. Not always efficiently.

But someone who understands: you can’t go back.

And that even in the hardest moments, you’re here to learn. To grow. To see through a different lens.

Like finally putting on your glasses the right way.

And realizing—it’s been clear all along.

You just had to keep going.