The Habit That Saved Me
The Danger of “Someday Syndrome”
For much of my twenties, I lived with what I like to call “someday syndrome.” You know the drill: Someday, I’ll hike that trail everyone’s raving about. Someday, I’ll paint my kitchen cabinets something less “rental beige.” Someday, I’ll learn how to make sourdough (though admittedly, lockdowns made that less of a choice and more of a social obligation). And, most importantly—someday, I’ll meet the right person.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want these things. I really did. But “someday” was the safe place where dreams went to hibernate. It wasn’t until a chilly November morning, standing in line for coffee in Boulder, that it hit me: all my somedays were stacking up like snowbanks, and frankly, I was tired of waiting for them to thaw.
The specific moment of clarity? It happened when the stranger behind me in line asked if I knew the trail conditions up at Chautauqua, and I had to admit that I didn’t. Here I was, born and raised in the shadow of the Flatirons, and I didn’t even know if the trails were muddy or snowy because I hadn’t gone hiking in months. Months! That realization felt like the universe staging an intervention.
Now, I’d love to say I sprang into action that very same day, becoming a human dynamo of self-improvement, but...no. What I did do was start small. Really small. So small, you might laugh—and that’s okay. Because this habit, as unassuming as it was, changed just about everything for me.
The Radical Habit: Showing Up
Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. “Showing up” sounds obvious, but you’d be amazed how rarely we actually do it. I’m not talking about fulfilling the bare minimum of job or social commitments. I’m talking about showing up for the things you say you care about, even if no one else is holding you accountable.
For me, that meant setting one simple, non-negotiable goal: spend thirty minutes outside every single day. No excuses. No “it’s too cold,” no “it’s too late,” no “but what if the Wi-Fi doesn’t reach the porch.” Just thirty uninterrupted minutes of Boulder’s best-selling feature: nature.
This wasn’t a grand plan to fix my love life (spoiler alert: it helped). It wasn’t even about fitness or mindfulness or any of the other hashtags we slap on self-improvement efforts. It was about breaking the “someday” logjam. I just knew that if I could commit to this one small thing, other parts of my life might start moving, too.
When Habits Meet the Real World: A Tale of Wet Socks
If you stick to anything long enough, life will test your resolve. For me, it was an icy January morning when I carelessly stepped into a puddle that turned out to be a half-frozen creek. My boots filled with water faster than a kiddie pool, and I had a choice: retreat to the warmth of my car or keep going. I wish I could say the decision was easy, but the internal argument lasted about as long as the battery on my hand warmers.
Still, I kept walking—wet socks and all. And you know what? That miserable, freezing walk is one of my clearest memories from that winter. There was something transformative about pushing through discomfort, like I was proving to myself that I could handle friction in all its forms. That day, I learned that showing up doesn’t mean “only when it’s convenient.” It means committing to the act, full stop.
That mindset started to bleed into other areas of my life. I started calling my mom on Wednesdays instead of telling myself I’d “do it this weekend.” I reached out to friends I missed but hadn’t prioritized. And, in a leap that surprised even me, I agreed to a blind date set up by one of these reconnected friends.
How a Trail Fixes More Than Your Mood
Fast-forward a few months to a sunny spring afternoon. I’m standing at a trailhead with someone I’d been dating for a few weeks. She’s looking at the map, deciding which route to take, while I’m busy doing trail math: two-hour hike means at least ninety minutes of uninterrupted talking. No phones, no distractions, just me and someone I really, really liked.
Spoiler alert: it went well. But what struck me later was how natural it felt. I realized all those months of daily walks—through snow, rain, and the occasional aggressively radioactive yellow pollen cloud—had conditioned me not just physically but emotionally. I’d gotten better at being present, at sitting with silence, at stopping to look at a particularly lovely cluster of columbines. All skills that, as it turns out, are wildly helpful when building a relationship.
Better yet, I’d broken the “someday” cycle. I wasn’t waiting for ideal conditions: the perfect trail, the perfect weather, the perfect time. I was doing the thing, and that shift in mindset made all the difference—not only for my sense of self but for my new relationship.
What Showing Up Could Look Like for You
I know not everyone lives somewhere with mountain views or a surplus of bald eagles circling overhead (seriously, Boulder, stop showing off). But you don’t need a pristine trail at your doorstep to start showing up for yourself. Here’s how you can make this habit your own:
1. Start Small—Like, Really Small
Pick something you can absolutely, definitively commit to daily. Ten minutes reading a book that isn’t work-related. A one-song dance party in your kitchen. Drinking a full glass of water before your coffee, even if you’re prone to zombie mornings like me.
2. Create Accountability (But Make It Fun)
Text a friend every time you do your thing. They don’t need to reply—this isn’t about validation—it’s about knowing that someone, somewhere, knows you did it. Treat it like a game: “Hey, I hit 365 days of outside time, and I only slipped into a creek once!”
3. Let Go of Perfection
Not every walk will lead to a profound epiphany. Not every habit will feel monumental in the moment. That’s not the point. The magic is in the consistency, in proving to yourself that you can keep showing up, wet socks and all.
Conclusion: One Step at a Time (Literally)
Let me be clear: this isn’t a fairy tale where showing up led directly to finding “the one” or instantly unlocking a magical life where I know how to fold fitted sheets. (Let’s be honest—they’re basically fabric origami.) What I did find was a sense of momentum, of clarity, and of being present—not just for the good stuff but for the hard stuff, too. Slowly but surely, it turned the tide on my “someday” mindset, and that’s something I’ll carry with me no matter where life takes me next.
So, if you’ve been waiting to start something, anything, stop waiting. Set your timer for thirty minutes and see what happens. The biggest shifts start with the tiniest step. And sometimes, that step might just land you in a creek—but I promise you, it’s worth it.
