I hope you will kindly excuse the silence around this bloggy place.
I’ve been somewhat buried lately. Buried in mounds of laundry, buried in love for the babies, buried in… my lists.
Yup. I make lists.
I wish I could call myself a list-maker in the elegant, organized sense of the word. I wish that my lists were series of tidy tasks lined down a fresh, smooth piece of paper; items waiting to be carefully checked off or lined through.
But, no, I’m more the crazy, frenzied type of list-maker. The “heaps of post-it notes overtaking my house” type. The “half a dozen little notebooks in half a dozen strategic locations” kind of gal. These wordy scraps are often remade into more comprehensive lists, but sometimes they are desperately relegated to a bin to be gone through..ugh… later.
I know I’m not alone in my penchant for lists. In fact, I’m pretty sure that entire books have been written on this topic. Seriously, check out some of these. Not that I’ve read them, of course. They’re on my “to-read” list;).
Don’t get me wrong, I think there may be some value to all my lists. At times I know they help alleviate some churning worry, or help me to prioritize more appropriately. Some of the lists are even kind of fun. In addition to the too long “to do” lists, there are often lists of friends to call, songs to remember, ideas to write about, things for which to be thankful.
But sometimes I suspect that my lists are merely a highly evolved form of procrastination. A way of sophisticated self-enabling, if you will.
Writing down as a way of putting off.
Because I know that my very best days, the importantly productive days, are the ones when the list lays ignored on the counter.
On these days, I move forward doing the best I can, from moment to moment. I may have a general plan in mind, but I am forced to pause; to think or pray about what is the very next right thing to do. I sense my dependence with every breath- learning to lean on and in.
These are the days in which I am suddenly available to help a friend in immediate need, to write a note or send a message to someone who happens to cross my mind. On these days, I put down whatever seemingly essential chore I am doing, to read right then to an infinitely more essential little girl (or two) with book in hand. These are the days I turn the van and take a detour from running errands to play at a new playground or have an unexpected adventure.
And I never regret these days. Miraculously, on these days, the things that really need to get taken care of, somehow do.
These days have divine rhythm and a timing all their own.
So for now, I will probably keep making some of my little lists. But I look forward to days with fewer lists and a lot more listening.
Do you make lists? Of what? Do you think they help or hinder you?