Resist not time, as it persists in its march. Time marches, I age. Perhaps the key to graceful aging is graceful surrender. Yet not accept defeat. And so I’ve decided to embrace some habits that have taken me a lifetime to accumulate. My least favorite is my dedication to making lists.
I don’t regard myself as a compulsive list-maker. Rather, I view lists as a necessary evil to make sense of the chaos that surrounds me. Lists give my day order and structure, I hate to admit, yet will embrace. A concession to the reality that my mind could use a little help.
There is an inverse relationship between my scant memory and the more robust of my lists. They have sprouted up in my car, on my desk, the bathroom mirror. They’re stuck to my contact lens case. They perch on my computer monitor, my windshield. They wink, blink, cajole and remind me of tasks undone. Thank you, Mr. Post It, for conjuring those little sticky pieces of paper that help me hang on.
I’m not an elaborate list-writer. No numbers, letters or prioritization for me. Just words on a piece of paper. Done or not, that’s all I care about. A squiggly line for incomplete. A check mark means it’s done.
Why wouldn’t I complete a task? Perhaps I’ve changed my mind or I just don’t feel like it anymore. Maybe I’m rebelling against the reality of needing to write anything down. Once written, the words reverberate with urgency. Cannons blare and fireworks flare. “Help! I can’t remember why I’m in this room! Quick! Get me my list!”
Some days are like that, for my lists and me. Embrace, til death do us part.