Listmakers Anonymous, here I come!

I live by lists. Can’t help it. Must have one – at least one – every day. Even if all it says on a given day is:

Pet the cat
Check Facebook

Of course, most of my daily lists include reminders to be here or there at a certain time, to make a payment for something or other, to do this or that task as secretary of the local Bahá'í Assembly, to call my daughter about a question related to the children’s theatre company we are starting or about a family matter, to return items to the library, to remind my husband about … (there’s always something), to stop at one or more stores for supplies referenced on a separate shopping list, the one that has a permanent home on the refrigerator. Etc., etc., etc. And here’s the puzzlement.

I love these pesky sounding lists. I really do. And I especially love crossing tasks off as they are completed. My favorite lists are the ones that are unreadable by the end of the day because all the items have been obliterated by heavy lines.

Aaaaaah, what a wonderful feeling of accomplishment!

Or is it actually a symptom of questionable mental health? Is obsessive listmaking a practical tool or a “cunning, baffling and powerful” addiction? (Any of you who have been regular participants in just about any kind of 12-step meeting will recognize that phrase.)

I know what you’re thinking. Come on, Helen, quit exaggerating. And stop trivializing addictions. Listmaking is just good organizational practice. What’s the big deal?

OK, maybe you’re right. After all, I do get a lot done with the help of these long tedious lists, providing I don’t forget where I put them. And there’s my job, which basically requires me to be a Mother Hen listmaker. In order to coordinate both admissions for prospective graduate students in an education department and also the various steps and phases and paperwork necessary for students to properly record and complete all their requirements and eventually graduate, I spend a lot of time organizing, collating, transmitting and filing pieces of paper. Often the job also involves offering a sympathetic ear and an encouraging nudge, whichever is appropriate, to help students keep on track toward their Ph.D.

In other words, a Mother Hen listmaker. And most days, that feels like a perfect fit.

Still, there are indications that maybe I take this listmaking propensity a tad too far. Like the time, many years ago, when we were in the process of buying a house for the first time. I found that moving into a newly purchased house was more complicated than any other moving I had previously done, and seemed to involve more lists. One morning, a few days before the closing, we went out for breakfast and I brought along clean paper and a pen and all my notes and spread them out on the table to try to get them organized. My husband watched me for a few minutes (in wonder or in horror, I don’t know which), and than asked, incredulity dripping from every word, “Are you making a list of your lists?”

I was. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but that’s exactly what I was doing.

Now here’s the reason this topic is on my mind today. Because my love of lists, or whatever it is that makes lists such an essential part of my life, also makes it very hard to enjoy 11 unscheduled days off work. 11 days off, no traveling planned. Just 11 days at home.

That’s what’s happening right now. Our office, basically the whole university, closed at end of day on December 23 and won’t re-open until the morning of January 4. Today is day 5. It’s a Monday morning. Most Monday mornings I have finished writing my blog – with its self-imposed, publicly announced weekly publishing deadline -- the day before, or sometimes even the day before that. This week, despite having had almost nothing pressing to do for days 1 through 4 of this break, here I am on day 5. Monday morning. Just getting started.

Why? Because for an addicted listmaker, sustained freedom from lists is not a pretty sight.

All during December, which is the major crunch time in my job, I dreamed about this break. As I slogged through 113 applications to our doctoral program -- most of them arriving right at deadline time and thus creating an avalanche of paperwork to process -- as I answered phone calls and emails and arranged and labeled files and scanned or saved documents into online folders, hopefully getting all of them into the correct places, and tried to get everything cataloged and communicated and coordinated before December 23 so our faculty could access the information and begin reviewing applicants online while the office is closed ….

Gads, that was a long sentence!

Anyway, you get the idea. I was very busy. And the thought of a beautiful 11-day break with no trips planned, no major events happening, lots of time to lie on the sofa reading books and watching movies, seemed like heaven on earth.

Sure, there were things to be done during that time. The incipient children’s theatre company urgently needed attention, a small home renovation project is in process, many hours of ice time would be available for skating practice, a couple of Bahá'í meetings were scheduled, there would be ordinary household tasks to manage and grandkids to play with, and of course, two blog deadlines. But ordinarily all of that and more must be accomplished around a full-time work schedule. Without having to go to work, the rest would be a snap. Right?

Maybe.

I left my office last Wednesday feeling pretty pleased with myself. Everything was done and I was able to walk out the door with a peaceful mind. After work I went to the library and stocked up on books and movies. And of course, made a list of everything that I needed to do, at some point or other, during the break. Not a schedule, mind you. Just a list. Just a whenever-I-could-fit-it-in-around-sofa-time list.

After a bit of shopping early in the day on Thursday when stores were still open and some food preparation for the duration, I spent virtually the rest of that day and all of the next doing … absolutely … nothing.

Or at least, what feels like nothing to me.

I didn’t write anything. I didn’t organize anything. I didn’t read anything except novels and email. I didn’t cross anything off on a list. And it felt pretty good, for a while. Until about mid-day Friday, when a strange lassitude set in. By then I’d had plenty of rest and could easily have, if not dived, at least tiptoed into a couple of the tasks that would have to be addressed at some point during the break. And I’d had enough rest to start feeling a bit bored. And I could have put on real clothes and gone out for some recreational grandparenting. AND all of these options sounded very appealing to my thoroughly relaxed brain.

But did I do any of that?

Nope.

I just burrowed deeper into the sofa. It seemed my body had forgotten how to move.

Maybe I was having listmaker withdrawal symptoms. You know, crashing. At any rate, when Saturday morning came and the world around me came back to life, so did I. Hooray, there were places to go, things to do, people to see (what song lyrics am I channeling here???), and I was energized once again as I charged out the door, tightly clutching a list for that day, ready to conquer the universe by crossing off items, one by one.

Now it's today. And just a few minutes ago, after writing most of the above text, I walked into the kitchen, unashamedly picked up my current list, rummaged in the drawer for a yellow highlighter, and swiped it across every item that needs to be done today. And didn’t think a thing about it until after I came back to my computer and re-read what I’d written up to this point.

So here’s the deal: if any of you can relate to this, and are willing to admit it, I propose we start a new 12-step group, Listmakers Anonymous. I’ve been involved in starting other recovery groups so I know just what to do. First, we make a list …

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