I’ve been busy making lists. Lots of lists. Need to do lists and don’t forget lists and follow up on that lists and grocery lists and lists with lots of potential. I spend the time capturing these things like little lightening bugs and trapping them into the corresponding jar for “safe” keeping. Then I walk away having exhausted my resources and caught all the things in a frenzy of thinking and scanning and brow furling. Upon my return, I almost always find a bunch of dead matter in the containers. 

I walked away without ever tending to the things I had caught. The papers get shuffled like the jar gets pushed out of the light, and the ideas never get oxygen or any other nourishment. Just like a lightening bug in a jar without ventilation and food, the content on these lists fails to thrive.

Occasionally, I will find that a few things managed to stay vibrant and well having caught just enough attention somewhere along the way, whether intentional or peripheral, but mostly those lists I labored over lay irrelevant to my current moment.

Looking back on this piece of the process, I laugh at myself as I see how mundane and unimportant many of these notes were in hindsight, which inspires me to get curious. What is this all about anyway? My inner detective lights up and pulls out the reporter’s notebook to make her own list. 

Where was I on the day of the excessive list-making?

I had been sitting at my desk between scheduled events surrounded by scraps of paper with different notes to myself. The schedule was full and I needed to make the time between “really productive.”

How was I feeling?

I was scattered and drained. My head was too full and words were spilling out as incoherent demands about what I should be doing and all that I hadn’t gotten done. 

What did I do about it?

I chose to start listing the demands in an organized way. If I could at least catch them on the page, I would know how to begin again when I make it through the inevitable crash that I felt coming.

Is there another way to describe that feeling?

I was afraid to stop and rest because all these things that were competing for my attention might evacuate never to be seen again. 

How did that go?

Well, all the things did evacuate never to be missed, and I crashed anyway. Void of any so-called productivity. 

What might I have done differently?

Maybe I could take that frantic need to make multiple lists as a signal to stop and check in. I already knew that I was overtired, and the list-making was a last ditch effort to make myself feel productive. 

When I do remember to take those pauses, it always feels amazing and clear. It is a relief to drop out of that demanding energy into a steadiness. Sign on the wall says, “I’ve got this.” There’s no fire. The sky is not falling. I’m just tired or hungry or need fresh air or a glass of water. Maybe even a horizon view. The pause always reveals the next right step, and it is always simple. 

How will I remember to pause?

A post-it note reminder never hurts anything! But, truly, it is a practice. It is about deep listening and self-care, and it is a practice in trust and alignment. For me, it is about embodiment. Listing is a headspace “action”. Sometimes I find that I need to get out of my head and see what the rest of my body has to say. I’ve learned so much about embodiment from Qoya dance with Sarah Sadie, qigong and yoga practices, somatic experiencing, and Laurie Benson and her incredible community of women at Inward Bound.

I will likely have to remember or relearn this whole thing a few more times before it sticks. So, what will I do when I hear Lolitta piping in with “oh, of course, here you are again! Don’t you ever learn?!”?

I will pause and lather myself with a thick, soft coat of trusting bubbles and rinse myself with a stream of compassion. It’s a practice after all, and I am a work in progress.