If you do one thing this week: write a list and change your life

I AM not a fan of the self-help genre – indeed it would be more accurate to say I actively dislike it. Perhaps it's because whenever I spend any time in that aisle of a bookshop I'm left feeling more than a little uneasy – it's like a permanent pall of dissatisfaction and discontent hangs over the section and just by browsing the books a bout of severe anguish might be triggered. Perhaps this is because self-help is a billion-pound industry built on unhappiness?

Did you ever see the episode of Sex and the City when Carrie and the gang went to hang out in the self-help section? They may have been wearing their Manolos, but the experience made them feel desperate and, for once, the show got it absolutely right: being told that if you're unhappy it's entirely within your own hands to improve your situation can sometimes seem just a little too pat.

However, in the spirit of adventure with which I write this column I'm going to suggest that you try a little exercise that a friend of mine, who is a self-help addict (there's probably a book to help you cure that by yourself), swears by.

First, decide what it is you really want to do – what is your ultimate dream: quit your job, your partner, live in Paris, learn Chinese or whatever. Next, write down everything that might happen if you did it. No, you can't write that the world would stop turning and yes, you've got to write everything – the very worst that might happen. Don't censor yourself, it's best if it all just pours out. Finally, write down what it would take to put things right again (even if it's only in a temporary kind of way) if in pursuing this dream everything really does go pear-shaped.

So, have you done it? Are you surprised by what you wrote down? Isn't it slightly less scary than you thought it might be?

Before you accuse me of treating you like lab rats, let me tell you that I tried out this exercise before recommending it to you. Of course my dreams were grandiose – I'd like to live abroad; I'd like to be able to speak another language (or two) fluently, and I'd like to be discovered as a great talent of some sort.

So what has been the result of this? Have I handed in my resignation? Booked a round-the-world plane ticket? Discovered my inner tango dancer? No, I can't say that any of that has happened.

But I did call the electrician to come out and fit the radiator that's been languishing, cold and inert, against my bedroom wall for about three months. And I posted the direct debit form that means I am now looking with a clear conscience through my contact lenses, rather than simply hoping that I never again bump into my optician.

It's not cataclysmic, but I feel better for having done something. And, trust me, the thought of a toasty bedroom rather than the icebox I've been sleeping in is life-changing in its own way.