I like a list.
Any kind of list: a to-do list, a got-done list, a shopping list, a packing-in-my-suitcase list (I like those a LOT), a movies-to-watch list, a menu-for-a-party list.
I’ll even add something to my list that wasn’t there, just so I can have the satisfaction of crossing it off.
I wish I were kidding.
And even though I resisted the Google-Machine at first, I love me some Google Reader. It’s basically an alphabetised, chronological, organised list of things I like to read from the internet. Turns out, Google Reader is my idea of heaven.
Lists are written in my journal, on slips of scrap paper on the kitchen counter, on legal pads at my desk, on my computer. I even have 40 draft posts started here. In a list.
But all those lists? Can make me feel a little crazy. Like throwing french fries into a flock of seagulls.
Oy, the noise, it is in my head.
Okay, so I can be a little Type-A. But that is not my natural state. I have learned this. The lists are all about control, about fear, about having something to show for my time, about feeling like I do – I am – enough.
Flipping through my journal this morning, looking at a list with several un-checked items, I found a note I had written to myself.
What if I didn’t write a list of what I want to do today, and instead wrote a list of how I want to feel?
How would the day look? What would get done?
Who would I be? How would I dress for that?
That last question is a tip to the fact that sometimes my day stalls out in front of the closet when I have several things I’ll be doing – and I have no idea how to dress for all of them.
Rather than being concerned with formal/casual, professional/playful, colourful/plain, young/old, or even temperature, if I dressed for how I want to feel, it would be pretty hard to get it wrong.
The question of priorities on my lists – it seems that could also be solved pretty easily if I paid attention – focused on – how I want to feel.
Joyful. Content. Useful. Strong. Full of wonder.
How do you want to feel today?