The Lost Art of Doing Things Just Because

Someone asked me recently, “What’s one thing, completely unrelated to your work, that you would like to learn?”

It’s a simple question.

The kind you expect to answer quickly—something safe, maybe even predictable.

But I didn’t answer right away.

I let my mind wander.

Not to the things I should say. Not to something impressive or practical. I just let it drift a bit, like it used to before everything had a purpose attached to it.

And then my answer showed up.

I’d like to learn how to train dogs in Schutzhund.

That surprised me.

Not just a little—but enough to make me pause and think, Where did that come from?

For those who don’t know, Schutzhund is a highly disciplined form of dog training that combines obedience, tracking, and protection work. It’s structured, demanding, and requires patience, consistency, and a deep understanding of how dogs think and respond.

In other words, it’s not casual.

It’s not something you accidentally pick up on a Saturday afternoon.

Which made it even more interesting—because this answer didn’t come from anything practical in my life. It wasn’t tied to my work. It wasn’t something I could easily turn into a side project or justify as “useful.”

It was just… interesting.

Which is funny, because if I’m being honest—it’s also completely unrealistic.

I have an English Bulldog. And not just any English Bulldog… one with the personality of a diva.

The idea of her tracking, protecting, or doing anything remotely resembling disciplined work is, at best, optimistic. At worst, laughable.

And that got me thinking.

Somewhere along the way, we got really serious about everything.

We optimize our mornings. We track our steps. We turn hobbies into side hustles, and side hustles into brands. Even our downtime has a purpose now—“self-care,” “growth,” or “productivity disguised as rest.” It feels like every part of life needs to justify itself.

But what if it doesn’t?

What if we did something… just because?

Not because it’s good for us.
Not because it’s efficient.
Not because we can post about it later.

Just because.

Remember when you used to do that?

You’d doodle in the margins without caring how it looked. You’d take the long way home just to see something different. You’d try something new and not worry about whether you were any good at it. There was a lightness to life then—a sense that not everything needed to lead somewhere.

Somewhere between responsibilities and routines, we lost that.

Now even our fun has expectations attached. If you pick up painting, someone asks if you’re selling your work. If you enjoy baking, it turns into a business idea. If you like working out, it becomes about tracking progress and hitting goals.

It’s not enough to enjoy something anymore—it has to be useful.

That’s exhausting.

So, here’s a small rebellion: bring back doing things just because.

Go fly a kite (and not ironically). Bake something overly complicated even though a boxed mix would work just fine. Rearrange a room just to see how it feels. Start a playlist filled with songs you’d never admit you love.

Or maybe—just maybe—try something completely out of character. Show up to a ballroom class. Join a line dance and stumble through it. Learn Mexican Train dominoes and take it way too seriously for an evening.

Because none of it needs to lead anywhere.

That’s the point.

There’s something quietly powerful about choosing to do things without an agenda. It reminds you that your time doesn’t only matter when it’s productive. That not everything has to be measured, improved, or shared.

Some things can simply exist because they make you curious.

And ironically, when you stop trying to make every moment count, those moments often end up meaning more.

You might rediscover a part of yourself that got buried under responsibility—the curious part, the playful part, the part that didn’t need permission to enjoy something.

And here’s the thing—it doesn’t even have to be realistic.

I may never train a dog in Schutzhund. My bulldog has made that very clear.

But that’s not really the point.

The point is that something in me was curious enough to imagine it.

So, here’s a question worth sitting with:

What’s one thing, completely unrelated to your work, that you’d like to learn?

Don’t rush it.

Let your mind wander.

And when you find your answer—even if it’s impractical, unlikely, or a little ridiculous—I’d love to hear it.

Really—send it to me, share it, tell me in passing. I’m curious what shows up for you when there’s no pressure to be practical.

You might surprise yourself.

I did.

 

I’m Lauren—a writer, educator, and novelty quilter with over 30 years of experience in service and sales. I’ve taught high school English, worked as a journalist, and now run Artisan Shop USA, a marketplace supporting handmade artistry and the sharing of faith, family, and country. I’m also a wife, mom, and lifelong lover of storytelling.