Find your doorway.
Start where you're stuck.
This library contains ten guided experiences for the moments when getting started feels impossible. Each one meets a different kind of stuck — from a wall at the doorway, to a list that has frozen you, to a gap that's gone on too long.
You don't need to read them in order. Choose the experience on the left that most closely matches the kind of stuck you're in right now.
When you
can't get started
You are not failing to start. You are stuck at the doorway, and the doorway is real. This experience walks you through why, and offers a smaller way through.
Not laziness, not weakness
Just the threshold itself
Like a heavy door that won't open from a running start — you need a different angle
The doorway into the work is.
Pour the coffee · find the pen
Prepare the space, then walk away
You are not failing to start. You are stuck at the doorway, and the doorway is real. Lower the bar from doing the task to setting up for it, and the threshold dissolves on its own.
- 1What is the smallest setup gesture you could do right now to prepare the space for the task you are stuck on?
- 2If preparing the space were the entire goal, with no expectation of doing the task itself, what would change about how this moment feels?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the wall returns.
When the task
feels too big
The task is not too big for you. It is too big to hold all at once — which is true for everyone. This experience walks you through why, and offers one small move that gives the task edges.
The plan keeps growing branches
The fog has no edges to grip
Like reaching into fog to lift something — there's nothing to pick up until something has edges
It's a fog of unspecified work.
Sketch the first box · type column headers
Convert the fog into an object
The task is not too big for you. It is too big to hold all at once, which is true for everyone. Find the smallest visible piece you can finish in a minute, and the fog becomes an object you can work with.
- 1What is one small piece of the task you could complete in sixty seconds that would be visibly part of the larger thing?
- 2If the only goal were to give the task edges, with no expectation of doing more than that, what becomes possible right now?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the size pushes you backward.
When you're
avoiding something important
Avoidance feels like neutral ground. It is not. This experience walks you through why the not-doing is its own kind of work, and offers one small move that shifts the math.
Following you from room to room
The thing you already know
Like a heavy box left in the corner — getting heavier each day you don't lift it
You are paying, hour by hour.
Not the doing, just the naming
Wait with your eyes open
Avoidance feels like neutral ground. It is not. The not-doing is its own work, and it costs more each day you stay inside it. Naming the cost in one honest sentence shifts the math without forcing the action.
- 1What is one true sentence about what avoiding this thing is costing you today?
- 2If the not-doing is actually a daily decision rather than a pause, what would you choose if you were making the choice freshly today?
Two prompts to sit with whenever something starts following you again.
When you've been
procrastinating all day
The day is not ruined. It is not yet over. This experience walks you through why a small contained window changes everything, and offers one move that ends the day differently.
The original task still there
The story you are carrying
The day isn't over yet — what's still possible isn't catching up, only ending it differently
It is not yet over.
When the timer ends, you are done
The deal is binding
The day is not ruined. It is not yet over. A small contained window in the hours that remain does not undo the procrastination, but it changes how the day ends. Set a timer, do the work for that window, then stop.
- 1What number of minutes feels small enough that you could actually start the timer right now, with no negotiation?
- 2If the goal of this window is not to catch up but only to end the day differently, what becomes possible that did not feel possible an hour ago?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the day starts to feel lost.
When you have
too many things to do
A long list does not need better prioritisation. It needs you to stop trying to choose and start moving instead. This experience walks you through why, and offers one move that returns the ability to choose.
Eyes blurring on the list
The deciding has frozen the whole thing
Like a closed loop — the harder you try to choose, the less able to choose you become
paralysis with a productivity label on it.
Under five minutes · almost without thinking
Restoring motion, not optimizing
A long list does not need better prioritisation. It needs you to stop trying to choose and start moving instead. Pick the smallest item, finish it, cross it off, and let the act of completion give you back the ability to choose.
- 1Looking at your list right now, what is the single smallest item you could finish in under five minutes?
- 2If the goal of this small completion is not productivity but the simple return of motion, what changes about whether it feels worth doing?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the list itself stops you.
When you don't
know where to begin
When you do not know where to begin, the issue is rarely the beginning. This experience walks you through the unnamed question underneath the circling, and offers one move that lets the next step appear on its own.
Several entry points, all plausible
Weighing each one, never landing
There's a question underneath the circling — and the mind cannot solve a question it is also holding
It is "what am I trying to figure out."
"What does done look like for this?"
Not preparation for the work — the work
When you do not know where to begin, the issue is rarely the beginning. There is an unnamed question underneath the circling, and the question is what is keeping you frozen. Write it on the page in plain words and the next move usually appears on its own.
- 1What is the question that lives underneath the circling right now, written in the plainest words you can find?
- 2Now that the question is on the page in front of you, what is the smallest next thing that becomes obvious?
Two prompts to sit with whenever you find yourself spinning again.
When you keep
putting it off until tomorrow
Tomorrow-promises feel like decisions, but they are actually a way of avoiding the cost of starting today. This experience walks you through why, and offers a thirty-second move that breaks the loop.
You also said it yesterday
Watching yourself not do it
Tomorrow becomes another today, with the same task waiting and a new promise being made
It is a self-reinforcing loop.
Make the call ring once
Smaller than negotiation can reach
Tomorrow-promises feel like decisions, but they are actually a way of avoiding the cost of starting today. Thirty seconds of the actual work, right now, breaks the loop and turns today into evidence rather than another postponement.
- 1What is the smallest possible unit of motion you could do on this task in the next thirty seconds, without finishing this experience first?
- 2Now that today contains thirty seconds of doing rather than another promise, what is different about how tomorrow will arrive?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the pattern starts again.
When you're
too tired to do anything
Real depletion needs rest. But once not-doing has gone on long enough, the system can get stuck between rest and action. This experience walks you through why, and offers one tiny motion that breaks the static.
The tiredness has thickened
The rest is no longer resting
Stuck in the in-between — neither full rest nor any action feels available, and the in-between drains you further
just leaves you more depleted.
Put on socks · reply to one message
Smaller than action, gentler than rest
Real depletion needs rest. But once not-doing has gone on long enough, the system can get stuck between rest and action, and the in-between drains you further. One tiny motion, no matter how trivial, breaks the static and gives a tired body something it has been waiting for.
- 1What is one motion you could make right now that requires almost nothing of you and yet still counts as doing?
- 2After making that one tiny motion, what do you notice in your body or your state, even slightly?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the rest stops resting you.
When perfect is
stopping you from starting
Perfectionism freezes you because the first attempt is being asked to do the final attempt's job. This experience walks you through why, and offers one uncomfortable move that gives the work a body to live in.
You can almost feel it
Beginning feels like a betrayal
There is no path from vision to finished thing that doesn't pass through bad first draft
about asking the start to look like the end.
Try to make it exist, badly
The first attempt's only job: to be there
Perfectionism freezes you because the first attempt is being asked to do the final attempt's job. Make the worst version on purpose, and the first attempt's job changes from "be good" to "exist." Once it exists, the real work, which is revision, can begin.
- 1What does the deliberately bad version of this look like, made in the next few minutes with no concern for quality?
- 2Now that a worst version exists, what becomes available that was not available when there was only a vision?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the gap between vision and reality freezes you again.
When getting
back on track feels impossible
Returning feels impossible because you are imagining the wrong return. The old momentum is gone, and the new one has not started yet. This experience walks you through why, and offers one tiny re-entry that ends the absence.
The whole thing has gone cold
The gap has its own gravity
You cannot return to the old momentum because it is no longer a place — only a new one starts from where you are now
The debt is too large, so you don't return.
Walk five minutes · read one page
No catching up · no commitment to tomorrow
Returning feels impossible because you are imagining the wrong return. The old momentum is gone, and the new one has not started yet. One tiny act of doing the thing again ends the absence and begins something new from where you actually are.
- 1What is the smallest possible act of re-entry you could make right now, with no commitment to anything beyond this single moment?
- 2Now that today contains one act of doing the thing again, what is different about who you are compared to ten minutes ago?
Two prompts to sit with whenever the gap has gotten long again.