I’ve loved lists since I could hold a pen. The sight of a brand-new legal pad still sends tingles of possibility down my spine. I can wander in an office supply store for hours, evangelizing about the perfect Bic gel pen with the micro-fine tip. I’ve owned dozens of planners and am currently obsessed with GoodNotes for iPad Pro.
But I’m breaking up with my to-do list.
Before you panic—yes, I still write everything down. In this phase of life, downloading my thoughts, plans, and goals onto paper (or screen) is non-negotiable. But something fundamental has shifted in how I approach this process.
Here’s what I’ve learned: We get better at whatever we practice regularly. And my to-do list habit had been practiced for decades. What began as a helpful tool had morphed into something more sinister—a massive indulgence in perfectionist fantasy. The story went like this: if I wrote it on the list, anything was possible (even more-so if color-coded, bulleted, and highlighted!). And as is always the case with our stories, this one created powerful emotions: disappointment, frustration, overwhelm, exhaustion. It was simply no way to live.
The servant had become the master. My simple list had transformed into an angry ogre—a crushing set of expectations I carried like an overstuffed backpack through every busy week. And I started to feel like a productivity machine. I could grind through my list at all costs, but I was totally out of integrity with my time, and with myself — a surefire recipe for burnout.
Like that ex who still texts when you’re vulnerable, my to-do list habit resurfaces when I’m especially busy. This hasn’t been a clean break. Some weeks, that magical thinking about what I can accomplish still creeps back in. Old patterns die hard, so I practice awareness and self-compassion when I get hooked.
These days, as I liberate myself from the tyranny of the to-do list, I’m working on improving one of life’s most important relationships: my relationship with my own time. Like any relationship, it improves with attention, honesty, and loving care, as opposed to benign neglect.
Instead of fantasizing about productivity with my to-do list, I’m paying close attention to my schedule—ahead of time. I have regular conversations with myself about my time, my experiences, and my wellbeing — early and often — when I have more control, and a sense of what’s most important.
I’m leaving the overstuffed backpack behind. No more shoehorning productivity into impossible slivers of time (you know the drill: “I’ll make those three phone calls while eating lunch.”)
Instead of to-dos, I’m making appointments with myself, and I try to book realistic amounts of time in my calendar for things that matter most. This means getting things done, but also booking time for what I love, and yes—booking time to do absolutely nothing.
Like any relationship, this new approach requires effort. Often I’ll see an appointment I’ve made with myself, and my brain says, “I don’t feel like it right now.” Tolerating that discomfort and honoring my original plan isn’t easy, but it’s a muscle worth developing. With each honored promise, I develop trust in myself—that I won’t let myself down. That I will treat my time as the precious, finite resource that it is.
If you’re ready to examine your own relationship with productivity, ask yourself:
- What stories are you telling yourself about your to-do list?
- How does your list make you feel at the end of each day?
- What would change if you treated your time like a precious relationship?
The goal isn’t perfection—it’s progress. And sometimes the most important thing on your list might be: forget the list.
