I have always been a list maker. A friend once teased that,
“Her lists have lists.” But the joke was true. I even have a master list of
packing lists. There is the New York City Packing list and the Cape Cod list
and the Kripalu Packing List and the Camping Trip list. I mean, really, these
are vastly different undertakings, no?
Another list memory: my first husband—and this may be why he
is an ex-husband—once wrote on my daily to-do list: “Inhale, exhale, inhale,
exhale….”.
Even at that I have defended my lists. Maybe it’s outer
order balancing inner chaos? But my defense is always that I get a lot done.
But yesterday reading a wonderful novel called “April &
Oliver” by Tess Callahan I read this line:
“Lists are for people who don’t do what they want.”
It struck me to the core. If I was doing what I really
wanted would I really need a list?
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