In a life filled with adventurous wanderings, meandering conversations, intense conflicts, full-throttle speed, deeply emotional moments, and riotous laughter, I nonetheless am a law partner, single father, and homeowner in a manner that means that not every moment has me on the edge. Balancing my penchant for a highly enjoyable existence with the many responsibilities I must shoulder is sometimes a bane, but always critical. And, at the center of this teeter-totter lies my to-do list, that ever-shifting, often-tangible representation of all that must be accomplished.
Recently, my to-do list was feeling less like an aspirational symbol of achievement and more like a locus of psychological, if not physical, torture. The mounting entries stacked against a limited timeframe began to create an internal friction that was souring my mood and tensing my body. As soon as one item was checked off, three more appeared as if by some dark magic. Rather than flowing through my days as was usual, things began to feel more stilted, more onerous, more overwhelming, significantly less fun. Fun being a value I hold sacred, I was starting to lose sight of myself, a daunting development and one that needed a remedy.
Compounding this aura of dread was the fact that, with my short-term to-do list capturing all of my attention, it became impossible to focus on items on my medium-term and long-term lists. Mind you, these lists are not memorialized anywhere, but they reside meaningfully in my mid-conscious, those deep-rooted drivers of the larger trajectory of my life. Losing mental space and time to work on my novel or plan future trips or catch up with less often-visited friends or plot the overthrow of the socioeconomic and legal systems was causing me no small consternation.
Typically, this would be the place in my musings where I reveal some great epiphanic solution to the quandary presented. Sadly, reader, I have not yet had such a revelation and remain somewhat mired in the minutiae of cranking through my daily and weekly obligations. I have found solace in recognition of my problem, in appreciation that I have had and will have myriad hair-raising experiences, in reminder of the obvious facts that not only does everyone face the same dilemma but that not every second of every day has to be apex.
In attempting to craft and live the life most suitable to my predilections, it is normal to be annoyed by the drudgery, but that does not mean that I have to completely enjoy the truth of that axiom, even as I begrudgingly accept it. One partial tonic for my malady is to count my blessings rather than lament all of the boring things I have to do. Champing at the bit to get outside or write in my notebooks or jump off something high into a refreshing body of water, it is true that I am losing more than a bit of perspective. At least I can acknowledge my shortcomings in this regard.
Zooming back in on the present, on the gift that is my reality, I smile as I write the last words of a column that gives me a forum I am lucky to have, loose an internal chuckle as I contemplate the silliness of my symptoms, aware that I could have any number of bigger issues, giving thanks to the people who make me so happy and so fulfilled. Cross those items off my list.