Seven Questions to Write About the Things You Keep Waiting for Company to Do

In my phone notes there is a list called "Want to try," eleven lines. The first: "fermented fish noodle soup in Cần Thơ, go at dawn." The second: "see the nine o'clock showing on a Wednesday night." The third: "coffee on the rooftop of the new place by the bridge." The list was created two years ago, and not one line has been crossed out yet.

I am thirty-six, a site supervision engineer, and I spend more time in the site hut than at home. That day was a Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on a plastic chair in front of the hut, an iced coffee in a plastic bag, scrolling to that list. I noticed one small thing: after all eleven lines sits a sentence I never wrote out but always understood, "when someone can come along."

This is not telling you to stop waiting for anybody and just go alone. That line sounds strong, but it often makes someone who is lonely feel blamed. Nor does it say that hoping for company is wrong. Going with someone and going alone are both fine. The seven questions below only help you see what that list really is, and find the smallest version, within your strength, that you can do this week.

Before you write

Sitting there, I counted again: eleven things, none costing much, none needing a qualification. Every day has time for two or three of them, yet they sat there for two years. Phát, the young engineer new to the site, sat on the next chair and glanced over.

"Hưng, are you doing anything this weekend?"

"Not yet. There's a place I want to try."

"Then go."

"Going alone feels a bit odd."

"Odd how? I go all the time."

Phát finished and stood up to check the formwork, leaving me with that "odd how" hanging. I did not feel judged. I only felt that the word "odd" needed a closer look.

A list like that is not really a to-do list, it is a postponement list. Each line holds a little anticipation for me, which sounds warm. But postponed long enough, the warmth turns into something heavy, because every week that passes with a line uncrossed is a quiet reminder that the missing thing is still missing. And at the bottom of it, what I was waiting for may not be a particular person at all. It may be a good enough reason to press the button, a "someone is going, after all" so I would not have to decide for myself that I deserve a morning in Cần Thơ.

Writing is a way to slow down and see each line. You do not need to write well, only truthfully. Before you begin, a few small things help:

• Open your real list if you have one, in phone notes, on paper, or in your head
• Pick a familiar seat, a cup of water beside you, and put the phone face down once you have copied the list
• Nobody reads it but you. If you do not know the answer to a question, leave it blank and move on
• One or two short paragraphs for each question is enough

Seven questions, from light to deep

1. Which things have I ever thought "I'll do it when someone can come along"?

Write them all, even tiny ones like trying a new pho place or strolling along the river. No filtering, no grading.

2. In that list, which line has sat longest, and how long has it been there?

I looked back at the line about noodle soup in Cần Thơ, two years. Just write the number, no need yet to say what it means.

3. For that line, am I waiting for one particular person, or for "someone" who has no name yet?

Both are fine. But the two answers lead to different things: one needs a message to a person, the other needs a decision of your own.

4. If someone came along, what would be different?

Try listing: more fun, safer, someone to take the photo, someone to laugh with. Then see whether each item needs that exact person, or only something smaller.

I stopped writing there, went to pour more coffee, listened to the concrete mixer running steadily across the site. I saw that most of what I had listed in question four did not call for a particular person. I only wanted someone to know I had gone.

5. Which part of that thing could I do alone and have not tried?

Cut it down to the smallest version. No need for Cần Thơ, just a bowl of the same noodles at a place near home. No need for the whole trip, just one morning.

6. If I go alone and feel lonely halfway through, what will I need?

Perhaps a small notebook, a song in the earphones, a message sent beforehand to someone. Prepare one thing to hold, like holding the handrail on slippery stairs.

7. Which line in the list do I no longer want at all, and can I let myself cross it out?

Some things I wrote two years ago no longer spark anything. Crossing out is not giving up, it is letting the list match the person holding it now.

Question seven took me longest. There were two lines I crossed out: the rooftop coffee, because I realised I only wanted to go since Phát praised it, and I do not enjoy noisy places. And one other. I will not copy it here.

The first time I sat in the noodle place near home feeling that everyone was looking at me, though nobody was. The first ten minutes were uncomfortable, then the bowl arrived and I was busy eating. After a week, some people feel lighter for having crossed out a line, some notice nothing different but remember the feeling of sitting there, and some find that going alone really does not suit them, which I think is also fine. On a busy day just do question five: write the smallest version of one line, no need to go yet.

The place this goes off course is turning it into a test: I have to be good at going alone. Then I pick the hardest line at once, like a three-day trip to Cần Thơ, to prove I can. It is tempting because it sounds like an impressive leap. But if I travel that far and still feel lonely, I am quick to conclude "going alone really isn't for me," when the problem was just too big a step. The swap: pick the easiest line, the smallest version, and a ten-minute walk with nowhere to go counts as a line too.

If you tried and it did not work

Two reasons come up often. First: you arrive, feel empty or awkward, and leave early. You did not do it wrong. Leaving early is still having tried, and you have learned one true thing about yourself. Writing down one detail from the place is still worthwhile, even if it is only the smell of the broth or the colour of the plastic chair, then try a smaller version next time.

Second: you sit down to write and find not one line on the list stirs anything. Everything feels flat, even the things you once looked forward to. It may be tiredness, it may be many other things. Do not force yourself to find a line to fill the space. If the feeling keeps lasting, the next section talks about when to let someone else know. And if you want to write a little more about a heaviness with no name yet, seven questions to write for a pain with no name may keep you company.

The following Saturday morning I put on a shirt, rode to the noodle place near home, the hot bowl steaming up my glasses. I did not take a photo. I finished it, added a little more fish sauce, then wrote a few small words beside the first line: small version, done. The line is still there, Cần Thơ has not happened yet, but now it has a day in the calendar.

When to seek professional support

This article is seven questions to write, not therapy. It cannot replace treatment, and I am not promising that writing will make feeling alone go away.

But here are a few signs you should bring to a professional, rather than carrying them alone:

• Things that used to please you no longer stir any interest at all, and this lasts for weeks
• You find you do not want to go anywhere or see anyone, or your eating and sleeping change noticeably
• The feeling makes it hard to go to work or handle daily tasks
• You think about hurting yourself, even if it is just a passing thought

The last point cannot wait. Speak with someone you trust, today. The Emergency Support page explains what holds true in moments like that.

Asking a professional to walk with you is as ordinary as asking a skilled tradesperson to check a crack you have been staring at without understanding.