Yummy Dopamine: Entering my 'Just Do It' Era

On chasing dopamine, getting out of my way, and doing things for myself

“I wrote a book,” my friend announced in our group chat one day.

The questions started coming at her fast, from all angles.

What do you mean you wrote a book? [She means she wrote a book].
Is it fiction? [Yes].
Is it good? [Yes].
How long did it take to write it? [A few years].
You were writing a book for a few years and didn’t tell us? [Yes].
Is it published? [No, it’s not edited yet].
Do you want to publish it? [Yes, but it needs to be edited first].
Are you going to hire an editor? [Yes].
Can we read it? [Here you go].

She sent us a PDF copy of her novel, and I devoured it in one night. I started it in the bath, then moved to my bed. This is good! I thought. How could she not tell us she was writing a freaking book? For years! I thought.

I couldn’t imagine keeping something like that to myself. Writing a book is a ton of work (or so I hear — I’ve never done it). It takes time and energy and that’s time and energy not spent doing other things. I couldn’t believe that when we asked “how was your weekend,” she never responded with “oh, it was good, finished another book chapter”.

Nope. Instead, she wrote a book and told us when there was a book to read. And that opened my eyes to a possibility I’d never considered before.

How many times have I announced I’m going to do something, only to not fully follow through?

No need to answer that — I can just tell you. Many times.

Two years later, I still think about this moment. I was confused and inspired. How do you just do something, I thought. I could never, I said. It didn’t feel real. Or at least not something I’d be capable of.

A voice would respond. It was quiet at first, but it’s gotten louder.

I mean, you could just do it. The voice would say. And then you would not talk about it.

does. not. compute.

As a person with ADHD, I am constantly seeking dopamine. This is not news to me.

But what was news to me is that you can produce the same amount of dopamine from saying you’re going to do something as you would if you actually did it.

!!!

If I announce I’m going to start something, I begin to imagine myself having done it — and I know other people are thinking the same. I get positive feedback, little pats on the back, comments saying nice things like, “I can’t wait to see your journey,” and emojis and other moments of celebration that make me feel good.

They make me feel so good, in fact, that I can become satisfied with just that. I don’t need to do anything else. I certainly don’t need to do the thing I said I was going to do. The acknowledgement that I could do it if I wanted is enough; the dream begins to live on in only my brain.

Yummy, yummy dopamine.

Sometimes, I can even chase those feelings by thinking of doing something. Planning a workout, plotting potential essays on a content calendar, thinking about how I want to reorganize my dresser. The shirts in their neat rows are sometimes enough to feel the accomplishment I’d get from actually having spent the time folding.

So I don’t do the thing. I just bask in the dopamine firing in my brain.

It sounds like a cheat code, but it can turn dark.

Because then the dopamine fades. I feel worse. I didn’t follow through, and I have to live with the fact that this is who I am. And now, on top of it all, I have to find a new source of dopamine to keep my little brain happy.

Imagine my surprise when I realized I could solve this problem by doing something simple. By jumping in, doing what I want to do, and not talking about it.

This allows me to chase the moment I get to talk about it. I’m going after the feeling I know is coming. And along the way, I get a dopamine hit from doing what I said I would, which propels me towards the next step.

A little achievement, a little dopamine, just for me.

That doesn’t mean this is the only way to get shit done — accountability is magical. But I’m starting to think there’s a world where I have accountability to, like, one or two, or even five people, instead of every single one of my friends or hundreds of Substack subscribers (you know, for example).

I started writing this essay in my head while on a run at a writer’s retreat in the Catskills.

I often start writing essays in my head. That’s not the weird part.

But you had told me six or even three months ago that I would’ve been on a run or on a writer’s retreat, let alone both at the same time?

I’m not going to say that I wouldn’t have believed you — neither statement is that outlandish, but I also would have had questions.

I’d want to know how I actually got to the point where I was running while on a writer’s retreat¹ up in the Catskills. They both sound like things I’d want to do, but how did I actually get here?

And to that I would tell myself that I just got here. I just did it. I signed up for the retreat. I started running one day. That’s it.

me on a run and me in the catskills. I do not have a photo of me on a run in the catskills because I left my phone in my room. I'm not better than YOU, but I'm better than who I was last week.

An answer that my past self would find frustrating (at best).

I didn’t want to tell anyone I was going on this writer’s retreat before I left, out of fear I would 1) stop writing or 2) decide not to come. It turns out both were still at risk², but I kept writing and made it here.

I’ve also been beating myself up about not having published anything on Substack for the last month. So today, after working on other non-Substack projects, I told myself I was just going to do it. I’d pick something, write it, and not promise my audience anything³.

So far, it’s working.

Because I allowed myself to just do it, I found myself writing part of this essay in a hot tub while overlooking the Hudson River. I couldn’t come up with a more magical scene if I tried (which is partially why fiction is hard for me…)

And to be honest, I kind of hate that I’ve told you that I have started running again, but it was a part of the story I’ve wanted to tell (the plight of a writer).

It’s been a secret I’ve been keeping over the past two months, a secret only known by myself, my husband, and the people who follow me on Strava.

This past Spring, I wrote an essay about my time in San Francisco. I briefly touched on the fact that I had started running when I was in the Bay, and I realized I missed it. I ran a few times in 2020, but haven’t run since then — not even close. But since I published that essay, I’ve been thinking about running.

An ode to my time in the Bay Area

I thought about running during my walks throughout the Spring and Summer. I passed a treadmill one day at the gym and said ‘what if?’. As Autumn approached and the weather started reminding me of why I loved running in San Francisco, I briefly thought, “Okay, this could be the time”.

But I never took that idea seriously enough to actually do it. Maybe I was protecting myself, not wanting to just collect a new hobby only to abandon it weeks later. And I couldn’t articulate why I was so drawn to running. So not running felt easier.

I kept making excuses. My running shoes were too old and the foam had worn out, I didn’t have a good plan to follow and winter is coming.

Then, on a particularly crisp fall day, I decided to just go for it.

The rain from earlier that day had stopped, and the air had a familiar chill that transported me to running up the hills of Hayes Street. If not now, when?

I put on my five-year-old running shoes (compressed foam and all), quickly found a ‘Return to Running’ plan on Runna, and hit the pavement.

I’d been outside for two minutes when it started raining again.

I could turn around. I thought.

Or, I could just keep going. I responded.

And so keep going I did.

I finished that first run and was counting down the days until my next. I showed up again, and then again.

And then I caught a terrible cold, and I couldn’t run for ten days.

That could’ve been the end of it. Honestly, it should’ve been. Another version of this story playing out at another time in my life would’ve ended there. Thanks for the fun, I’d say. Time to chase something else.

This time was different. I was chasing not only running itself, but knowing I had run, and will continue to. I had goals that I hadn’t achieved yet, and I wanted to achieve them (what a concept). I knew that every day, after every run, I’d get a little better and better.

I knew what I’d accomplished (and where I was heading) six years ago: the last time I called myself a runner. I wanted to feel that again.

While I’m sharing the fact that I have started running again, I’m holding some of my longer-term goals a bit closer.

It’s the same for writing. I’m not quiet about being someone who writes, but maybe I’m not going to tell you everything I’m writing at any given moment.

I’m not ready to share those details yet. I don’t want to place my success in your hands.

I’m the one who actually has to just do it. There may be a day when I have a surprising achievement to drop in the group chat, but for now, ‘just do it,’ I will.

1. Spent my weekend at the Generation Women Writer’s Retreat, up in the Catskills, overlooking the Hudson River. The next retreat is in January, and while the format is slightly diferent, I highly recommend checking it out here.

2. I had a moment where I was starting at a work trip coming up and could not fathom also coming upstate to be even more social this weekend. Talked myself into coming, and (obviously!) glad I did.

3. I have used the “tell your audience an essay is coming so you actually write the essay” tactic before, and it does work, but it also feels like I’m putting my productivity in the hands of others. This is my attempt to reclaim some of that.