I make lists. Long ones. It started years ago. We had four busy kids at home, a dog or two, nearby grandparents, and my chronic volunteerism all jockeying for position on the calendar or in the carpool. If it didn’t make the list, it didn’t happen. The Sacred Holy List (hereafter referred to as the SHL) quickly became an appendage, like a college-ruled third arm.
You probably envision the SHL like other mundane to-do lists you have seen. No. Think epic—like the Odyssey of checklists. Two parallel columns of neatly written tasks march down the page. Three parts chore chart, one part wish list. The urgent (pay bills) sit side by side with the unlikely (paint banister). Some things (organize garage) take up permanent residence on the SHL and simply get carried over to the next list when I run out of lines. The garage has topped the Sacred Holy List since 2001, at least.
Now that we have no children living at home my schedule has become remarkably flexible. Why can’t I retire the Sacred Holy List? I wake up every day and head straight for the SHL in much the same way that normal Americans head for Starbucks. The morning cobwebs in my head clear as my eyes run down the List. I catch a whiff of purposefulness—the elusive aroma of productivity.
If I were to be honest about the source of the SHL’s mysterious power it boils down to one thing—the crossing-off part. Each item with a line through it gives me the illusion that my life is under control. Confession: I have even stooped so low as to add a task to the Sacred Holy List after I completed it, just so I could feel the triumphant rush of making that thin, blue line. I know. Pathetic, right?
A few weeks ago, in the throes of packing for vacation, the SHL went missing--buried under the junk mail and wedding announcements that overrun my kitchen desk every summer. I was paralyzed, couldn’t move a muscle. How would I know what to do, much less what I had already done? The day’s accomplishments would be joyless, devoid of satisfaction unless I could cross them off!
Somehow I limped along to get the bags packed and the doors locked and the key passed along to the dog-sitter. By the time I boarded the airplane, my list withdrawal pains had started to subside. Calm and cool-headed, I vowed to wean myself from the list when I got home. My unlisted status lasted one day. Day two I got a little shaky and gave in, starting with one modest column of realistic ambitions. No clean the garage or write the great American novel or label the thirty-seven shoeboxes of family photos and put them in scrapbooks. I'm simplifying. But more on that later. I’ve got to go put a line through write blog post.
Tell me I'm not alone! How psychotic is this? Maybe I don't want to know. Anyone out there share this compulsion?
I don't think you're psychotic -- just incredible. After reading this, I wonder if I might squeeze a morsel of productiveness out of my body by starting a list and then I quickly decide I don't have the mental energy to be that organized. I know it might help - I think it's a good thing, but the procrastinator in me wants to save it for another day. Tomorrow, I'll likely wake-up and ask my 3 year old what she wants to do and go with that. Eating cupcakes and going to the park beats doing dishes and cleaning bathrooms any day! Some day I'll grow up and attempt to be the productive, intelligent, amazing, list-making woman you are. Until then, I'm not too bad an actress ;)
ReplyDeleteIt must be hereditary! But instead of having one mega list, I have thousands of to do lists lying around my house. I find I can't go to sleep at night if I haven't made a list of all the things I need to do the next day. I was so overwhelmed at church on Sunday that I sat through primary making a huge to do list that filled two columns on my college ruled paper. Yesterday we crossed three of them off! Hallelujah! Love that feeling. I also have a to read list that fills at least 12 pages of my notebook. I love crossing things off there when I've read them or put them down, deciding not to read them. I also regularly find shopping lists I've started that have gotten lost in the shuffle (or piled into a massive pile by my husband who loves to have a clean counter so piles all my stuff I leave out to remind me of what I need to do). Maybe having one SHL would help me. The problem is, it wouldn't be at my bedside when I was trying to fall asleep but couldn't because of everything running through my head that I needed to do the next day. Maybe I'd just have to take it to bed with me every night.
ReplyDeleteYou've got me smiling big-time over here.... because this post really could have been about me, too. When we were first married, it took R a while to get used to the way I would sit down with the SHL every night before bed to write down a *new* SHL for the next day. He's grown used to it now. :)
ReplyDeleteKate--the list is a crutch, sheer illusion of organization. On any given day, my spontaneous-cupcake-eating-park-going side wins out nine times out of ten. I think I like that about us!
ReplyDeleteAnon and A.-maybe I need to transition to the mini version of the SHL. It sounds a bit less overwhelming. I might actually get through an entire list if I scaled down a bit.
ReplyDeleteI make and lose lists multiple times a week. Needless to say, my productivity of late has hovered at a very basic keep-the-household-running low. I've even tried digital lists with task reminders and all such bells and whistles, but to no avail. Today, you have inspired me to try my own SHL. Holding on to one list long enough to get to cross things off may be just what I need!
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