Your To-Do List Is a Mirror: Rethinking Productivity Through Values

I am so good at being productive. There’s no dopamine hit stronger than checking something off a to-do list. Especially an item on a to-do list that writing the to-do list itself was an item to do on a different to-do list. Inbox zero? I’m there more often than not. Systems in place for things that need to be done repeatedly? Got ‘em. No system? I’ll put making one on my to-do list. Ten pounds in a five-pound bag? Been doing it my whole life.

It’s confusing, then, when I feel like I’m not getting anywhere. At the beginning of every week, I identify three goals to move the needle toward achieving my Goals. At the end of each week, having accomplished those three goals feels pretty “meh.” There’s no dopamine there. It’s more a feeling of, “Ugh, okay. On to the next, I suppose.”

According to Merriam-Webster, productivity is defined as “the quality or state of being productive.” Not helpful, Merriam-Webster, but I should have seen that coming. It defines “productive” as “having the quality or power of producing, especially in abundance.” I think this is where productivity as an academic physician gets unwieldy: what level of “abundance” are we shooting for? Because I can tell you with certainty that I check an abundant number of things off my to-do list, but I rarely feel I’m accomplishing a Goal.

If this conundrum with productivity feels familiar, let’s try something different for the next few weeks. What if being productive meant that we were carrying out tasks that align with who we are, as opposed to what we do? What if your to-do lists reflected your values instead of your labels?

For example, my to-do list for the week includes going to the gym twice and walking on my treadmill four times. At the end of the week, I’m going to look at that and think, “There’s no way I put on any significant muscle or appreciably changed my risk of MI with any of that. On to the next, I suppose.” If I look at my to-do list as a reflection of who I am and what I value, though, those two trips to the gym and four sessions on the treadmill show that my health is important to me, that I want to age well (and, let’s be very honest, independently and in my own home). Work-wise, attending my department’s faculty meeting isn’t “a meeting I should go to,” it’s an example of how I’m a dependable colleague who knows what’s going on (generally) and contributes to the good of my division and my institution. Shifting the lens through which I view my to-do list wouldn’t change the list of things I do today, but it would change the energy I bring to it.

What’s more interesting is when I come across something that does not reflect my values or the person I want to be. My ethics colleagues and I keep a database of our consults. It’s an expansive database, one that can be used for quality improvement, research, and to answer administrative questions like, “What value do you, ethicist, who talks about feelings all day, bring to our fine institution?” Now, my ethics consult notes are long and all-inclusively verbose. They delineate, explain, recommend, teach, and clue readers in to the next thing they’ll probably have to deal with. Technically, I should pare that information down for our database. People using the database don’t need to be taught about Kant. They don’t need to know what the next issue will probably be; they only need to know what happened with that specific consult. But rather than spending my time editing down my consult note, I cut and paste the whole darn thing right into the appropriate database text box. I don’t want to be the person who counts those beans; I want to be the person who fills out the database quickly so I can move on to help the next person. And that’s not a character flaw. It’s information. My brain is quietly saying, “This is who we are, and who we’re not.” Not because the database is unimportant, but because the particular way the task is structured asks me to prioritize something I don’t actually value: administrative neatness over clinical presence and accounting over accompaniment.

It’s not a problem of motivation, discipline, or productivity. It’s a values mismatch. Once you start looking for it, you see it everywhere.

The committee you “should” be on, but never get around to responding to the email about.

The manuscript that checks a promotion box but drains your will to live.

The institutional project that looks good on your CV and feels hollow in your body.

The volunteer role you agreed to out of guilt three years ago, and now quietly (or loudly) resent.

We tend to respond to these with more pressure. More systems. More color-coded lists. More self-lectures about grit. But a more honest question is, “If I never did this, what part of me would be protected?”

Your integrity?

Your time with patients?

Your creativity?

Your energy?

Your sense of meaning?

Your limited, non-renewable attention?

Seen this way, you look at your to-do list and ask not, “How much did I get done?” but “What kind of person did I practice being this week?” In Atomic Habits, James Clear writes, “Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become.” Productivity need not be measured by the number of tasks completed; it can be the degree to which your daily actions align with your deeper values. Sometimes that alignment will look impressive on LinkedIn. Sometimes it will look like leaving a committee. And sometimes it will look like a very ordinary to-do list, completed by someone who no longer needs it to prove their worth.

Not because the list is shorter.

But because it finally belongs to you.