To Do Lists for Days

When I was a teenager, I used to make a lot of to-do lists. 

I don’t mean like the way normal people make to-do lists. I mean, I made a LOT of to-do lists. They were a soothing balm for my relentless anxiety, and I was all too happy to self-medicate.

I would pull out a crisp, blank sheet of college-ruled paper, and in my neatest handwriting, put down every single thing that I needed to do. 

I’d start with simple items like “complete algebra II homework” or “finish paper for Mrs. Huie.” But as the list got longer, my anxiety would dredge up new fears. I started listing items that had deadlines far into the future (“take the SATs in spring of Junior year”) or simply weren’t actually “checkable” items, such as “become fluent in Spanish” or “learn to play guitar.”

Sometimes, if my anxiety was really intense, I would break down my to-do items into minute steps:

1. Write letter

2. Put letter in envelope

3. Address letter

4. Stamp letter

5. Mail letter

The advantage to these minute steps was that I took one task and turned it into five tiny, but glorious, dopamine hits. As I dragged my pen across the paper to cross each item off the list, I could feel the anxiolytic effects wash over my nervous system. The immediate relief only encouraged me in my pursuit of more to-do lists.

But the relief never lasted long. As soon as I started crossing items off my beautiful to-do list, I had the overwhelming need to re-write the list. So, out would come another blank sheet of paper and in my neatest handwriting and with my favorite pen, I would transfer all the yet-completed tasks to a new list and the process would start again.

I could always tell how anxious I had been by checking my pockets at the end of the day. How many to-do lists today? How many times did I rewrite this list to give myself a moment’s peace? Three? Five? Seven??

So to-do lists and I have a long history. On again, off again. We can never stay apart for long. I should have known that a move abroad would have me running back again, clinging to a to-do list, hoping for a drop of dopamine to save me from myself. I bought a notebook as soon as I accepted the job in Taupo. It was just a place for to-do lists. The notebook was supposed to help contain them. To keep them in one place. It’s laughable that I thought that was even possible.

I have a to-do list for preparing the inside of our house for rental and another for preparing the outside of our house for rental. I have a to-do list for preparing for our flights and another list for what to do after we land. I have a to-do list of what to bring with us and another list of things that are staying. I have a to-do list for cleaning the house and a to-do list for paperwork we need. 

And all of them need rewriting. All the time. They beg to be re-written. I check off an item - dopamine hit. I re-write the list because now there’s a checked off item - even bigger dopamine hit.

I wonder how many to-do lists I will have written by the time we land in New Zealand in 84 days… 50? 100? 1,000?