Ideas Found While Walking with Daon and Bao

At First, It Was Just a "Reset"

When you’ve been trapped in front of a monitor for hours, wrestling with lines of code, there comes a moment when your brain feels like it’s turned into a block of wood. The business logic that seemed so clear just an hour ago starts to tangle, and every bug feels like it’s mocking you. That’s when I shut my laptop and reach for Daon and Bao’s leashes.

To be honest, in the beginning, this time was nothing more than a "shutdown" of work. It was a chore—a reset for my broken focus or a duty to my dogs who needed their exercise. Even on the trail, my mind was still back at my desk, obsessing over serverless architectures or the next feature update. My feet were on the grass, but my head was still in the machine.

"C'mon, Let's Go!"—The Voice of My Impatience

In the early days, I was always in a hurry. If Daon or Bao stopped to sniff a particularly interesting patch of grass, I’d find myself muttering under my breath:

"Daon, Bao! C'mon, let's go! Let's move it!"

I felt like I had to hurry up and finish this "lap" so I could get back to my desk. I treated the walk as just another task to be checked off my to-do list. The dogs wanted to record every scent in the world, but I would gently tug on their leashes, urging them to keep up with my pace.

Then one day, watching the back of Daon’s head as he stubbornly stood his ground, a thought hit me: Why can't I enjoy even this tiny pocket of time? What exactly am I running toward?

Letting the Dogs Lead the Way

After that day, I made a conscious choice to stop rushing. When the dogs stopped, I stopped. When they wanted to veer right toward a tree they’d smelled a thousand times, I followed. Instead of me dictating the route, I surrendered my direction to Daon and Bao.

Sometimes, we just sit on a park bench and do absolutely nothing for ten or twenty minutes. I’ll watch a butterfly with Daon or focus on the way Bao’s tail wags as he catches a scent in the breeze.

The strange thing is, the "breakthroughs" started happening in those moments when I intentionally let go of my thoughts. A bottleneck in my service that I had agonized over for hours at my desk would suddenly resolve itself while I was staring blankly at the sky from a bench. I wasn't even trying to think about it, but the fragments of ideas that refused to connect finally clicked into place.

Ideas Aren't "Manufactured"; They're "Discovered"

Back in my days as a strategy consultant, I believed ideas were something you had to squeeze out. I thought if you built a logical framework and dug deep enough, you’d eventually strike gold. But as a solo builder walking with Daon and Bao every day, I’ve realized a different truth.

Ideas aren't something you make; they are guests that visit when you’ve created the "state" for them to arrive. Walking relaxes the brain and activates the Default Mode Network—the creative circuitry. When you let go of the problem you’ve been gripping so tightly, your brain finally has the breathing room to reorganize information in new ways. Those "empty" minutes on the bench were actually when my brain was doing its most brilliant work.

What Stays When You Stop Recording

I used to pull out my smartphone the second a great idea hit me during a walk. I don't do that anymore. The moment I turn on that screen, I’m back in "work mode," and the connection with my dogs is severed.

Now, I just let the ideas flow by. I trust that the thoughts still vivid in my mind after I get home, after I’ve washed the dogs' paws and given them their treats—those are the only ideas worth keeping. The ones that survive to the end will always find their way back to me, and they become the core of the services I build. I’ve stopped worrying about the thoughts that vanish. If it was truly important, it wouldn’t have left.

The Walk as an Operational Process

For me, walking is no longer just a break. It is one of the most critical "operational processes" of my one-person business. If coding at my desk is the time spent "building" the service, then walking is the time spent giving that service "soul."

Without this physical separation from my work, my thoughts would remain trapped in a maze of code. The person who used to yell "Let's go!" has learned to slow down and find peace in a dog's pace. Thanks to Daon and Bao, I am forced to go outside, forced to empty my head, and as a result, I bring back ideas that are much more solid and human.

Epilogue: Do You Have a Bench of Your Own?

If you’re currently torturing yourself over a problem that won’t budge, let it go for a moment. If you have a dog, look them in the eye and head outside. Let them lead the way for a change.

The goal isn't to find an idea; it’s to cultivate a "state" where ideas can find you. Sometimes, a quiet ten minutes on a bench can move your business further than an hour of frantic sprinting. On the path where I hold the leashes of Daon and Bao, I find the most brilliant pieces of my next project—one slow step at a time.