Photograph by Jimmy Chan
On a recent winter weekday in Berlin, with the fresh snow on the streets rapidly going from magical winter wonderland to grimy sludge on the outside, and the customary family morning whirlwind sweeping through our little apartment on the inside, I was- as usual- a bit behind schedule.
This was due, in part, to the fact that the schedule I was behind on is more of a theoretical construct untethered from the laws of space and time. It was also partly because, on this particular Friday, my energy reserves for the week had been fully spent and I was admittedly moving veeery slowly. My husband- a fast walker himself (you know the type)- has on occasion expressed his concerns that if I move any slower I might actually start traveling backward through time, which, to be fair, would solve all my time management problems. And lastly because my two-and-a-half-year-old spends his days “exploring the world” (read: wreaking havoc and destruction) and had just managed to unravel an entire roll of floss while my back was turned, gleefully shouting, “Mommy, I found it!”
So, a bit behind schedule, as I said, and finally about to make it out the door when I realized my son’s daycare backpack was missing. I glanced around in frustration, convinced it must have fallen behind the hallway bench or been left in the stroller amidst the chaos of carrying in at least 17 different items. My children always come home looking like they’ve just returned from a 3-month backpacking adventure to the Himalayas judging by the sheer amount of gear they’re carrying. But, alas, the little blue backpack was nowhere to be found.
On the way to my son’s daycare, I mentally retraced every step of our journey home the day before, trying to pinpoint where the backpack might have gone rogue. I finally determined it had either 1.) Fallen off the stroller as I dragged it down the subway stairs, or 2.) Been swiped by someone with an eye for used but adorable French children’s backpacks while parked outside of my daughter’s ballet class. Either way, I resigned myself to rearranging my entire day to retrace my steps and launch a full-scale backpack recovery mission.
Of course, if I didn’t find it (which- let’s face it- I probably wouldn’t), I’d have to order a new backpack. And now that I thought about it, I’d probably need to order a new lunchbox, too. Maybe a metal one this time? Better for the sea turtles. And weren’t there mittens in there as well? Great, add those to the list.
Feeling secretly pleased by my ability to keep calm and adapt to life’s curveballs, I hauled my snowsuit-bundled toddler into the daycare coatroom. And there it was—hanging on the wooden hook beneath his picture—my son’s little blue backpack.
Well, shoot.
I had been so proud of my ability to tackle the situation head-on and quickly devise a plan to solve it. But in reality, I hadn’t been planning- I had been reacting. There was never a problem to solve. All I had to do was wait and see.
I’ve heard it said by knowledgeable-sounding psychologists and neuroscientists that humans have a finite capacity for decision-making. It stands to reason, then, that if I am depleting my precious and limited decision-making capacity on imaginary scenarios, there may not be enough left for the very real situations that require sound judgment.
All my elaborate mental gymnastics, rather than earning me any medals, might just be wearing me out. So why do I keep engaging in them?
It all comes back to maintaining the illusion of control. At its core, planning is ultimately about control. And control is fundamentally about managing fear. If I plan and prepare for every possible scenario, I convince myself that I’ll always be safe, my kids will always be safe, and everything will stay completely manageable.
But in truth, life could probably be easier if I just allowed myself to stand back sometimes.
In medicine, there’s a concept known as ‘watchful waiting.’ A watchful waiting approach means we acknowledge a potential problem, but we aren’t entirely sure it requires immediate treatment. Instead of jumping to action, we are willing to observe it, allowing the situation to unfold and reveal whether intervention is truly necessary. The idea is simple: if it’s genuinely a problem, it will expose itself as such, and we can act accordingly.
Watchful waiting isn’t about laziness or taking the easy way out (in fact, any pediatrician who’s tried to reassure an anxious parent that antibiotics aren’t needed yet- but might be later- can attest that this is by no means the easy path.) The point of this approach is to avoid unnecessary and potentially harmful actions. It’s about being prudent and thoughtful rather than reactive. It’s basically Zen Buddhism for physicians.
According to Wikipedia (which you really shouldn’t be consulting for your medical needs, by the way), “Watchful waiting is recommended in situations with a high likelihood of self-resolution if there is high uncertainty concerning the diagnosis, and the risks of intervention or therapy may outweigh the benefits.”
What if we, the overplanners, proud problem-solvers, and relentless doers, applied this principle to our personal lives? How much energy could we conserve—energy that might be redirected toward bigger, better, more creative, fulfilling, and meaningful pursuits?
Instead of reacting to every trigger or jumping into action at the first sign of a potential problem, what if we paused and asked ourselves these three questions:
1. Is there a reasonable chance this will resolve on its own?
2. Am I certain this is truly a problem?
3. What is the opportunity cost of acting to solve this right now?
How often would we end up stepping back, thereby preserving our precious time, energy, and sanity?
I, for one, could use more of all of the above.
This isn’t to suggest we become passive spectators of our own lives or abandon problem-solving altogether. Watchful waiting isn’t passive; it’s a deliberate process, one in which choosing not to act becomes a purposeful decision. It means staying engaged, staying observant, and thoughtfully deciding when- and if- action is necessary, rather than reflexively reacting to every situation.
Since being reunited with the little blue backpack, I’ve decided to give this watchful waiting approach a shot. Maybe I’ll find myself unprepared for calamity and have to revert to my pre-emptive problem-solving ways. But who knows? I may just find myself with a bit of extra time on my hands instead. I might even use that time to write another blog post.