What to do, what to do...

I have this exercise I do every morning (most mornings, anyway) where I sit down and write three pages freehand. Anyone familiar with The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron will recognize the exercise at once, but for those who aren't, this isn't a diary, it's not capital A art, it's just a brain dump...blah, blah, blah basically to just get it all out. I don't keep the pages for long once I've written them; they may hang around for several months and then I recycle them. For that reason, I have no desire to fill up a pretty, expensive journal with these jottings; I try to use scraps, random left over paper, paper already printed on one side, that kind of thing. I've done a lot of scrounging through the house to find paper to use and recently I found a stack of old college notebooks. Being the frugal sort, I had ripped out all my class notes and recycled them (I can't imagine I'll need my notes from Stage Lighting or Neurophysiology from 20 years ago any time soon,) but I couldn't bring myself to throw away the leftover blank pages. And look! It's paid off because now I can use them for my morning pages!

One morning as I was opening my notebook to begin writing, the pages fell open to the very last page and there was a 20-year-old list of things to do left over from college. I am a big fan of to do lists. I write them all the time, and, when I am anxious about something, I write them in a frenzy, adding everything I can possibly imagine needing to do for the next several years. I remember reading somewhere that a to do list can make you feel capable and productive because you can write a list that goes, "Wake up, Brush teeth, Write novel" and feel really good about yourself because you have accomplished two out of three. And we all know that ain't bad. This particular list made me laugh because, out of 18 items, I had crossed off two–laundry and Dance History reading. I laughed partly because those are always two of my favorite things to cross off lists–laundry and reading; laundry because it does not take much effort to gather clothes, throw them in the washer and go do something else for half an hour, but gosh you end up with nice fresh clothes. And reading because reading is easy for me no matter what the topic is. I imagine I probably did them both at the same time, spending a pleasant couple of hours on a Saturday morning. I also laughed ruefully imagining the young woman I was then, stressed out and trying to be healthy (weights, find out pool hours), take care of social obligations (write to parents, Jenna's present), do my homework (Dance History reading, unit write-ups, write seminar paper, Phys Psych lab write-ups, Phys Psych research and rough draft, dance journal), get an on campus job (call about non-print resource center), take care of everyday life (laundry, clean, driver's license) and figure out what to do after I graduate (Career Development Office, letters and forms.*)(*Yes, these were the real items off that 20-year-old list.) Clearly I failed miserably (16 items to go...), yet twenty years later here I am, still alive and functioning, healthy and happy despite not having crossed off those other 16 items. But I still make those same lists, with items that feel urgent now, and they still don't all get done. Twenty years from now will I find one of these and wonder why I bothered?

I was thinking about these things today as I washed dishes because my partner had the day off work and was home with me. I did not have the day off work, but I work at home. Sometimes this creates a little problem. Today I was feeling an anxiety that I recognize, one that is common to me and that I have fought with for all of these years. I know that I have to work and I have to earn an income and this is important. I also know that I have to take advantage of the time I have with the people I love, that time with them is a gift I will never get back, and this is important as well.

What does this have to do with a sense of direction, with getting lost? Only this: I use my to do lists to direct myself, to build a path, but where exactly am I trying to arrive? Thinking about college I remember a particular day in the fall, my first year. My house had organized an apple-picking expedition but I had a long list of things to do. My friends talked me out of my tree with gentle voices and no direct eye contact, lulling me out the door and into the car where it was too late for me to turn back. We picked bags and bags of apples, all kinds of apples. There was no hope of us ever eating all the apples we picked but we couldn't stop. The air was crisp and the trees were beautiful. We brought our apples home, jealously guarding our bags and bags of apples from each other, and the kitchen staff let us make caramel apples in the kitchen. We ate apples until we were sick of them.

And I was relaxed and happy, enjoying my friends, and full of apples and full of my very own self. I don't have the slightest idea what I needed to do, and didn't do, that day. But I remember the apples and the air and the leaves and the friends. I know through my life there have been other times when I have chosen the apples. And times when I have chosen the list. The lists may keep me honest but the apples bring me joy.

I have to remember that the lists are my way to pretend I have some say in my life, some control over what happens, and the direction I take. Once the list is written though I can't let it march me around like a drill sergeant, putting me through my paces. Because I don't think I've ever had "Go pick apples and cherish your friends" written on any list, except on the one in my heart.

copyright 2008 J. Autumn Needles