The Shorter List - Simplicity as Discernment — Guide
From the October 11, 2026 Real Skills workshop with Rick Wilkes and Cathy Vartuli. Reviewed and edited by Rick.
Workshop page with video, audio, and transcript
Invitation
It helps when we do not overload ourselves with too many things to do. And that takes practice—daily, hourly, sometimes right now.
But a shorter list can become one more demand: Pick the three most important things. Get them done. Feel bad when life interrupts. Start tomorrow already behind. Arrgh!
What if the list that needs to be shorter is the list of intentions we are actively returning to? Loving connection. Nourishment. Stewardship. Freedom. Being with myself and the people who matter. Not everything we value, compressed into a perfect system. A few things we want to recognize and bring alive now… for this next segment of our Life.
Simplicity can begin when the why becomes specific enough to guide us.
We may still keep a long task list. There are real responsibilities to track. The invitation is to discover a different place to act from: less pressure to prove our worth through completion, more discernment about what we are tending and how we are living while we tend it.
This Guide draws from a Real Skills workshop co-created by Rick Wilkes and Cathy Vartuli. When tapping, use words that fit your experience. You can tap, pause, change a phrase, or simply notice what arises.
A Menu of Possibilities or a Forced March?
Creative, caring people can make very long lists. There is more to learn, more to improve, more to give. Every meaningful role can generate another hundred things we could do.
A task list can help us remember. The trouble starts when every possibility quietly becomes a requirement.
Take loving connection. We could cook for someone, listen, send a message, share a project, sit together, or offer a moment of undivided attention. Those are possible expressions of connection. Turn them all into compulsory tasks and we can end up on what Rick called a “forced march of loving connection.” It set s a vibration of: “We are going to love somebody, whether they want it that way or not!”
A quality that matters can be expressed through more than one form.
That gives discernment something to work with. What would connection look like here, with this person, in this moment? The answer might be helping. It might be listening. It might be respecting their space.
Notice how these two questions land:
- Is this important or not?
- What matters to me here?
The first can be useful for a practical decision. Yet it can also pull us into repeated judgments: important to whom, urgent by whose timetable, right or wrong? The second may invite the heart into the conversation with the mind. It may feel quieter, more personal, or more connected to the life we want to live.
There is no required feeling. We are learning what language helps us discern, rather than demanding that a particular word work for everybody.
Let What Mattered Actually Count
Rick and Cathy described working together on an unfinished project. Look only at the remaining work and the experience becomes an open loop: more decisions, more tasks, not done yet.
Look through loving connection and something else is visible. They shared ideas. They were useful to each other. They enjoyed being together. The project gave their connection a form, and the connection nourished the work.
The unfinished task was real. So was the nourishment.
At the end of a day, try asking about one quality rather than conducting a trial of the whole list:
Was I with someone I love today? Was I with myself? Was there a moment of nourishment?
Allow a specific moment to return. A conversation. Food prepared with care. A shared laugh. A quiet acknowledgment between you and another being. Let it register before you turn toward what is still missing.
Something can matter without being constant, spectacular, or finished.
This is not an exercise in explaining away every gap. If connection matters and we have felt no connection for a while, we may want that absence to get our attention. The difference is the quality of the attention: Something I care about needs tending, rather than Here is more proof that I am failing.
When Simplicity Sounds Like Another Thing to Do
An exhausted person may hear a beautiful invitation and feel only another demand: Now I have to simplify correctly, listen more deeply, and notice all the ways I have been doing life wrong.
That response belongs in the room. It is not evidence that the person has missed the teaching.
Rick described the kind of late-evening exhaustion that comes from looking at a list and not feeling done. It is different, in his experience, from the satisfying tiredness that makes sleep welcome. There can be a feeling of having run out of spirit while the list keeps asking for more.
We do not need to add a correct way to feel on top of that. We can begin with one true thing: I am tired. I really intended to do that. It did not happen.
Then, when there is room, we can include more of the day’s reality. Perhaps we cared for somebody, did necessary work we did not enjoy, chose meaningful company, or rested before something that mattered. An unchecked box does not describe the whole human being.
Tapping: I Meant to Do It, and It Didn’t Get Done
Choose one unfinished intention that has become an accusation. This round makes room for the facts and for your humanity. It does not decide whether the task needs attention tomorrow.
Side of the Hand: Even though I really meant to do this, and it did not get done, I can feel that ouch. It was on my list, and I meant it.
Even though part of me says I am doing it wrong, there was more to this day than this unfinished task. I am open to including what was actually here.
Even though I wanted a different result, I can acknowledge this gap without turning my whole day into an indictment.
Top of the Head: I really meant to.
Eyebrow: I put it on my list.
Side of the Eye: And it did not get done.
Under the Eye: That part of me says I did it wrong.
Under the Nose: If I were doing it right, everything would work out.
Chin: That is a lot to ask of one day.
Collarbone: I can feel the disappointment.
Under the Arm: And leave room for my humanity.
Top of the Head: I also made some real choices today.
Eyebrow: Some were yeses that mattered to me.
Side of the Eye: Some were necessary things I did not love doing.
Under the Eye: Perhaps I tended someone or something I care about.
Under the Nose: Perhaps I chose connection or rest.
Chin: The unfinished task is not the whole story.
Collarbone: I am in the process of loosening this accusation.
Under the Arm: And finding my way back to what matters.
Pause. What feels true now? The task may still belong on your list. Notice whether you can consider it with a little less self-attack.
Coherence: Let the Action Meet Its Meaning
A necessary chore can feel like another extraction of energy. The same chore may feel different when it connects with something we value.
Cleaning up after a pet need not become our favorite activity. Preparing food need not stop taking effort. Yet these actions can also express stewardship of a shared home, nourishment, and care for the beings who live there.
The practical work remains. Our relationship with it is invited to change.
Cathy used coherent light as an image for alignment. In her own experience, a project that looked enormous could sometimes become manageable after rest or after getting clear about why she wanted to do it. She also made room for the fact that not everything changes that way.
Coherence is an invitation to notice alignment, not another standard of perfect functioning.
With an ordinary task, ask:
- What does this tend?
- Does that matter to me, or am I mainly trying to satisfy a role or a “should”?
- Is there a form of this action that feels more connected to its purpose?
- Would rest or a pause help me hear my answer?
If no warm feeling appears, you have not failed. Some things remain difficult. Sometimes we do them because the consequences matter. Sometimes we discover that the task needs a different time, a smaller scope, or a more honest place on the list.
Tapping: I Don’t Feel Coherent
This short process follows the invitation to slow down and meet what matters. Let “coherent” mean whatever recognizable sense of alignment it has for you; there is no need to manufacture one.
Side of the Hand: Even though I do not feel coherent, and I would like to, it is okay to pause and slow down.
Even though I can make an infinite list out of every role that matters, I do not have to turn every possibility into a have-to.
Top of the Head: I do not feel coherent right now.
Eyebrow: And I am wanting that sense of alignment.
Side of the Eye: It is okay to pause.
Under the Eye: It is okay to slow down.
Under the Nose: To be with what matters to me.
Chin: Every role I care about can generate an infinite list.
Collarbone: Possibilities can be good news.
Under the Arm: If I stop using them to beat myself up.
Take a natural breath. Is one thing that matters a little easier to sense? If not, the pause can still be a pause.
Infinite Care Does Not Require an Infinite Task List
Some games have a finish. A match ends. A project ships. A particular job is completed.
Other things we care about do not end in that way. Friendship, parenting, contributing to a kinder world: there may always be another meaningful action. Some of the effects of our care may continue beyond our lifetime, in ways we will never know.
An infinite game is not an instruction to do everything. It is a relationship with something worth continuing.
Rick offered the image of accomplishments as links in a chain: What did he do? What did he do next? The chain records actions. It is not the whole person.
Try moving from a role to a quality you can recognize in several forms:
| A role or task |
A quality to explore |
| Being a parent, partner, or friend |
Withness: being present with someone, rather than performing an endless list for them |
| Caring for a home |
Stewardship: tending the shared space we live in |
| Making a meal |
Nourishment: helping life feel supported |
| Going to a gathering |
Connection: including an honest connection with ourselves |
These are workshop examples, not prescribed answers. Choose language that has life in it for you.
A planned walk can be prevented by a storm. A social event can turn out to be a place where you need quiet. The intended form may fall away while the underlying quality remains available. Connection includes you. Nature is still nature in her storminess.
The question becomes: How could I be with what matters under the conditions that are actually here?
Quietly Tending Yourself
It is possible to look competent and feel as though we are always running to catch up. We pay bills, keep things functioning, and meet enough expectations that other people assume we have it together. Inside, we may be harsh, hurried, and reluctant to stop.
Cathy described discovering a quieter way of tending herself. Instead of using the next task to prove she was a capable adult, she was learning to do something because it was kind to her life.
That might be putting away dishes before bed, getting water, and returning to a show. It might be choosing a book in bed instead of another episode on the couch. The action is ordinary. The change is in the companionship we offer ourselves while choosing it.
Being with ourselves can also bring discomfort. A busy list may have helped us stay away from feelings we did not know how to meet. Noticing that can bring grief or regret: How long have I been living this way?
We can approach ourselves without diving into the deep end. Cathy suggested imagining sitting beside the discomfort when going into it feels like too much. Being nearby, breathing, and noticing can be enough for now.
“Adult” here does not need to mean rigid, joyless, or perfectly on time. It can mean a growing capacity to tend our lives with kindness—and still sit with birds, play, enjoy company, and leave some things unfinished.
Tapping: From Looking Together to Being With Myself
Use the word “adult” only if it helps. The heart of this process is the difference between appearing capable and offering yourself actual care. A tender discovery does not need to become a new verdict against you.
Side of the Hand: Even though I have been acting like I have it all together, and other people may think I do, I have not always been kind to myself.
Even though I have been running around tending my list, I have not always tended myself the way a loving person would. I would like to begin, or begin again.
Even though slowing down may bring feelings I have been avoiding, I do not have to dive into all of them. Perhaps I can sit beside what is here.
Top of the Head: I would like to tend myself more kindly.
Eyebrow: I have more life behind me now.
Side of the Eye: For part of my life, the emotions were too strong.
Under the Eye: Old experiences really pushed me around.
Under the Nose: I am open to some forgiveness for that.
Chin: I was probably doing the best I could.
Collarbone: Now I would like to settle in and be with myself.
Under the Arm: How can I quietly tend myself?
Top of the Head: I do not have to become rigid to be responsible.
Eyebrow: I can make room for play and quiet.
Side of the Eye: I can do what is reasonable for me.
Under the Eye: And acknowledge what I cannot do.
Under the Nose: There may be feelings and consequences to meet.
Chin: There may also be nourishment to receive.
Collarbone: I am learning a kinder way to participate in my life.
Under the Arm: Not pretending to be finished with the learning.
Pause and notice. Is there one ordinary act of care that feels inviting? Or is being beside yourself for a moment the care that fits now?
Let the Nourishment Come Back to You
An action done from what matters can remain available to us after we complete it.
Rick described finally tending a small repair through the intention of stewardship. Later, seeing the repaired area could bring back a sense that it had been cared for. Other work still remained. It did not erase the tending already done.
Cathy described clearing a cupboard with a friend, passing along things she no longer needed, and making room for what visiting friends would enjoy. Weeks later, the space still felt nourishing. Keeping it pleasant felt connected to that pleasure.
Completion can leave more than a checked box. We can receive the care that the action expressed.
Try noticing something you recently tended. Let yourself see the cleared shelf, taste the food, or feel the welcome in a space. What quality did you bring to it? Does any of that quality come back to you now?
This does not require someone else to provide the right response. It also does not mean taking on more care than you can sustain. The invitation is to recognize and receive what was actually there, instead of immediately replacing it with the next deficiency.
Unstack the Shoulds
Sometimes a small action becomes entangled with an entire route through the house: get up, put that away, clean this, take something upstairs, deal with that other thing, and only then take care of a basic bodily need.
The whole sequence looks efficient. The body stays on the couch.
Cathy described quietly tracing such a sequence and noticing where it stopped feeling right. One action might be fine. Another might carry the resistance. Leaving that one off could restore movement. Sometimes the only action that needed to happen was tending herself.
Instead of asking why you cannot make yourself do a supposedly tiny amount of work, experiment:
- Notice the sequence you have bundled together.
- Imagine the first action by itself. Does that feel possible?
- Notice where the “no” or heaviness appears.
- Let one nonessential part drop, or choose only the bodily need that is present.
- See what changes when starting does not obligate you to the entire route.
The result may be movement. It may be useful information. We are investigating the hold-up, not setting a trap to get ourselves to do the original agenda anyway.
Tapping: My Nervous System Is Done With Being Pushed
There can be an awkward interval when the old driving force no longer works and we have not learned another way. Frustration belongs here too. We do not need to pretend we enjoy feeling stalled.
Side of the Hand: Even though my nervous system is not going to play that old pushing game anymore, that seems to be where I am. Sometimes it is so annoying.
Even though I was taught to force myself and be self-disciplined, my system may be done with doing it that way. I was not shown many alternatives.
Even though I do not yet know how to move differently, I can acknowledge that I am reorienting myself. And reorienting can be disorienting.
Top of the Head: But what is the alternative?
Eyebrow: I was not taught an alternative.
Side of the Eye: Am I just being a lazy layabout?
Under the Eye: That is such a harsh choice of answers.
Under the Nose: Push harder or call myself lazy.
Chin: This does not have to be black or white.
Collarbone: Even when I am lying around, I am still a person.
Under the Arm: I am allowed to learn another way.
Top of the Head: Perhaps I can slow the whole sequence down.
Eyebrow: What is the part that does not feel right?
Side of the Eye: Could I leave that part off for now?
Under the Eye: Could I do one thing that actually tends me?
Under the Nose: I do not have to solve my whole life first.
Chin: I am reorienting myself.
Collarbone: That can feel strange and unfinished.
Under the Arm: I can be with myself while I learn.
Take a breath if you would like. Notice whether any part of the sequence feels different. You do not owe the old agenda a burst of productivity as proof that this worked.
Real Have-Tos and the “Ugh” Clue
Discernment includes consequences. Some things really do need tending: a deadline, a household problem that will worsen, basic care, an obligation with real costs if we neglect it.
Cathy described doing what is reasonable while accepting the consequences of what she can and cannot do. That asks us to relinquish the fantasy of becoming a super-person who fits everything in. Consequences include the rewards of what we do well, as well as the effects of what remains undone.
So we can ask, Is this truly a have-to? What would happen if I did not do it? We can also notice when we use “have to” mainly as an internal whip.
Rick described a recognizable “ugh” tiredness: I don’t want to. I have to. For him, that immediate depletion can be a clue about the stance from which he is approaching the action. It may be worth returning to the purpose, loosening the pressure, or finding a different way to tend it.
A clue is something to listen to, not a diagnosis or a command. The workshop offers these personal observations for exploration; tiredness by itself does not tell us why we are tired or settle what needs doing.
There may be room for a softer reminder: I like clean clothes. I care about this shared space. I am someone who tends things. And a limit belongs right beside it: I do not tend everything at the expense of my own well-being.
Tapping: I Can Tend Things Without Tending Everything
This round develops the brief tapping on the “ugh” feeling. Stay with a recognizable, ordinary example rather than requiring it to explain every kind of exhaustion.
Side of the Hand: Even though this has that “ugh” feeling—I do not want to, and I have to—I can notice how quickly the pressure drains me.
Even though I do not always catch the clue, I am human. I would like to find a way of tending what matters that includes me.
Top of the Head: Ugh. I do not want to.
Eyebrow: And I am telling myself I have to.
Side of the Eye: That pressure feels exhausting.
Under the Eye: Perhaps there is a clue here.
Under the Nose: Sometimes I miss the clue. So human.
Chin: There may be room to be more congruent.
Collarbone: It is okay to be someone who tends things.
Under the Arm: Without being responsible for tending everything.
Pause. Is this a real obligation, an overloaded sequence, a need for rest, or something you do not yet understand? Let the answer be specific enough to help with this moment.
A Few True Intentions, and Then Some Room
We can care about a vast landscape of things while actively exploring just one, two, or three intentions. The others do not become worthless because they are not today’s focus.
Rick contrasted discipline with devotion. A task list can carry the burden of remembering, while a few intentions help him return to what matters and sense whether something has ripened. The list remains useful without becoming the sole measure of his day.
Cathy described protecting periods of time from work and from task after task. Even with room available, hearing what she wanted could take practice. Sometimes she needed to sit quietly, allow a little boredom, and wait for an interest to emerge.
A quieter choice might still be television, a book, company, or time outside. It need not look “elevated.” The important movement is recovering some capacity to notice what we want rather than immediately filling the opening.
Space is not merely spare capacity waiting to be assigned. It can be where we find ourselves again.
An actual boundary may be needed to protect it. Cathy offered a concrete example: if something genuinely urgent takes away a protected evening, make an explicit arrangement for time back. The boundary needs tending; wishing for room does not always create it.
Keep Yourself Present Through the Hard Part
There are seasons when space is compressed. Someone needs care. A difficult situation demands attention. A few intentions may need to become just one word we can return to.
With-ness. Heart. Nourishment.
Rick described the difference between expecting to find himself again after the strain and staying in some relationship with himself along the way. I am tending the hearts of those who matter to me, including my own.
That does not make resentment-worthy or rage-worthy circumstances pleasant. Grief, anger, and strain remain real. The touchstone gives us something else to return to alongside them, rather than asking them to disappear.
This was hard, and I was with them. I was with myself too.
There is no promise that we will not collapse, need support, or feel lost. This is a practice of keeping a thread of what matters available during the experience, instead of postponing our own presence until all the difficult work is over.
Practices for Living This Skill
Choose one experiment that feels useful. This is a menu, not another list to finish.
- Move from form to quality. Take one recurring task or role. Name the quality, intention, or human outcome that makes it matter. Find more than one possible expression of it, so a blocked plan does not erase every doorway.
- Let a nourishing moment count. When you notice connection or care, pause long enough to receive it. The larger project may remain unfinished.
- Try one quieter question. When “important or not?” becomes exhausting, ask, What matters to me here? Include both your practical reality and your own well-being.
- Unstack an agenda. Separate one action from the chain of other things you attached to it. Notice the specific hold-up. Do only the part that is actually yours to choose now.
- Receive a place you have tended. Look at a repaired, cleaned, or nourished part of your world. Let what you brought to it register before cataloguing everything still untended.
- Leave room for desire to speak. Protect a manageable period from automatic tasking. If you do not immediately know what you want, allow a little quiet. Not knowing is part of relearning.
- End with a quality check-in. Ask whether one thing that matters was present today. If yes, savor something specific. If no, let the gap invite attention without turning it into a judgment of your worth.
Bringing It Into Your Life
You do not have to throw out your task list, stop being useful, or become a person with very few interests. You may love accomplishing things. You may love learning and offering more than one lifetime could contain.
The shorter list makes room for a different relationship with all of that. A few intentions you can feel and recognize. Actions that connect with their meaning. Permission to receive what has been nourishing, even while there is more to do.
You may catch the old pressure sooner on some days and miss it entirely on others. That, too, was part of the live conversation: not perfected teachers handing down a system, but people noticing, trying, getting tired, finding a clue, and returning.
What is one quality you would like a little more contact with now? How might it be available in the life that is actually here?
A few true intentions—and some room to live them.
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