When I was twenty-nine years old, I was for the most part incredibly happy. I had fantastic friends, a nice apartment, and the best boyfriend I’d had up until that point. I felt good about how I looked and good about the life I’d created for myself. I loved my city and I loved my life.
But as I approached my thirtieth birthday, I wanted to be prepared for the worst. I had friends who, on their thirtieth birthdays, were overcome with an enormous sense of sadness; friends who said they realized they weren’t where they thought they’d be at that point in their lives; friends who felt they’d thrown away their youth. What if I woke up on the morning of my thirtieth birthday and felt the same way? What if I freaked out?
And so I created a thirtieth birthday first-aid kit. The kit consisted of one thing: a list. The list was long, and made up entirely of things I considered accomplishments—from paying my way through college to starting grad school to saving up a proper emergency fund. It included all the places I’d lived, all the places I’d traveled to, and all the jobs I’d held. And it also included less tangible things, like the joy I felt over my wide and deep circle of friends, my close relationships with the women in my family, and the work I’d done for my own mental and physical health over the years.
After compiling my list, I proudly told my friend Linda about it. And when I did, I expected her to pat me on the back and offer to buy me a drink. But rather than applaud my efforts, she looked at me quizzically. “Kristen,” she said, “I don’t know about this list.”
“You don’t know?” What was there not to know? How could she not see that my list was an act of ingenuity? I may as well have told her that I put on socks all by myself that day.
But then she followed up her ho-hum words with advice that I’ll never forget: “Your list is fine and good. But instead of looking backward, what would happen if you looked forward? What are some of the amazing things you’ll do after you turn thirty? I imagine that list will be a lot longer than the list you already made.”
My first thought was Oh my god, Linda, you are brilliant. My second thought was This is going to be so much fun! And wasn’t fun what I really needed for my thirtieth birthday first-aid kit, even more than a sense of pride?
I got to work listing places I would visit, financial milestones I would reach, foods I would eat, and books I would read (notably, none of them had anything to do with self-help). I dreamed big, picturing myself walking around the markets of Thailand. And I also dreamed of things I couldn’t quite picture: like working a job I was passionate about.
But making my list wasn’t just about dreaming, it was about so many other things. Being a lover of research, I used my list making as an excuse to learn more about everything that piqued my interest—from classic movies to historic sites to bird-watching and gardening. All the learning made my brain tingle with happiness.
My “looking-forward” list also reminded me of the importance of novelty. When we’re living our day-in, day-out lives, it’s easy to fall into a rut. That rut can feel comfortable. But it can also keep us from growing, being challenged, and experiencing a genuine sense of surprise in the world. Surprises are great! And in writing out my list, I realized nearly all of it was made up of new experiences, which came with the potential for many surprises.
What’s more, my list making instilled in me a sense of anticipation, one of my very favorite emotional states. Like most kids, I counted down the days to school ending each summer and school beginning again each fall. Back in my single days, I adored the days and weeks of not having sex with a new paramour, while looking forward to it. And each year, I try to maximize my holiday anticipation, by beginning my countdown to Christmas the day after Halloween.
Perhaps most important, Linda’s looking-forward list idea was centered on hope and optimism. By writing a list for the future, we say, “Yes, there will be a future.” We say, “There are good things ahead.” We proclaim, “There’s a lot to live for, and I’m excited about those things.”
Now, Linda, of course, did not invent the idea of looking-forward lists. In fact, a few of the books we’ve lived by have had their own versions of these lists. But truth be told, their versions are both (a) wildly amorphous and (b) hard to put into practice.
On the amorphous front: Books like The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne, encourage us to create vision boards of what we dream of—from luxury items to fantasy vacations—but they don’t give us a concrete list that can be added to or subtracted from. And on top of that, they’re tied to the aforementioned Law of Attraction—meaning these vision boards are more reliant on the universe giving us what we dream of than on us making the dreams come true ourselves. Where’s the sense of fun and challenge in that?
In terms of lists that are hard to put into practice, The 4-Hour Workweek, by Tim Ferriss, provides a very clear example. Ferriss’s list includes mastering competitive horseback archery, starring in films in Asia, becoming a world-class martial artist, and living in some of the world’s most remote places (to name just a few items). On top of that, Ferriss believes we shouldn’t wait until retirement to do all the things we dream of. We should spread those dreams throughout our lives. But most of us can’t do this. Most of us work a lot, have very little vacation time, and are dealing with limited financial resources. Very few people can take months off their jobs to become master horseback archers.
The beauty of my friend Linda’s advice is that it’s simple, clear, practical, and personal. And that means just about anyone can do it—including people with Ferriss’s resources or people with mine. It can be enlisted by people who are turning thirty, and also by people turning fourteen or eighty-two. Regardless of whether we are in a good place or a bad place in our lives, in miserable jobs or satisfying ones, most of us can dream, and most of us can make lists.
Of course, making lists of things to look forward to can also be a team sport. The act of dreaming about, then planning, then anticipating a girls’ trip or a romantic weekend away can provide hours of mutual joy between friends and partners. It can give people who love each other a shared vocabulary of dreams. And it can remind people that they’re united in joy, not just toil. Jolenta and I wouldn’t have started our podcasts or written this book together had we not first brainstormed and written down what we were looking forward to.
One last thing: As I see it, it doesn’t even matter if we do most of the things on our looking-forward lists. It’s fine if we do just a few. More important is that we’re engaging with our fantasies and keeping an eye out for new things to dream about, and above all, reminding ourselves that there is a lot to be excited about in the future, regardless of what we’ve done or not done in the past.