She loved a good list. Always had. There was something deeply satisfying about writing something down, getting it done, and drawing a nice, decisive line through it.
Some people collected stamps. Some collected shoes. She collected checkmarks.
She had lists for everything. Groceries. Errands. Work projects. Holidays. Things to remember. Things to do someday. And occasionally, a list of things she needed to put on another list. She was aware that this might be a little excessive. But it worked.
That morning, she’d already emptied the dishwasher, answered three emails, started a load of laundry, and watered the plants. All before nine.
Unfortunately, none of those things had been on her list.
She sat down at the kitchen table with her coffee, opened her notebook, and wrote them down. Then she crossed them off. There. Much better.
She smiles at the four neatly completed tasks. A productive morning. She turned her attention to the rest of the page.
There were two things left. Pick up a prescription. Call the insurance company. Neither would take very long.
She looked at the clock. Nine fifteen. Well. That was a problem. Not a serious problem, of course. She had plenty of things she could do. She just couldn’t think of any that actually needed doing.
She looked around the kitchen. Clean. The laundry was underway. The bills were paid. She’d already make plans with friends for later in the week. Even the refrigerator was reasonably organized, what was saying something.
She tapped her pen against the notebook. There had to be something. She wrote: Organize linen closet. Then she stopped. She’s organized the linen closet two weeks ago. It was beautiful. Towels folded. Sheets stacked. Extra pillowcases where they belonged. She’d even labeled the shelves. She stared at the words she’d just written. Apparently, she was now considering reorganizing something she’d already organized. She crossed it off.
Then she realized she’d just given herself another checkmark. “Well, that’s embarrassing.” She laughed.
She could call someone. She could run a few errands. She could look into that volunteer opportunity she’d heard about. Or perhaps another class. She enjoyed the Italian class. Maybe there was something else she’d like to learn.
She reached for her phone. Then stopped. Did she actually want to sign up for something? Or did she just want something to put on the calendar? She set the phone down. That was an interesting question.
For most of her life, she’d known exactly what needed to be done. There were meetings to attend, projects to finish, children to get places, meals to prepare, people counting on her. And she’d loved much of it.
She liked being busy. She liked being useful. She liked knowing that at the end of the day, she’s accomplished something. She still did.
She wasn’t ready to stop working or contributing or learning new things. Not even close. But lately, there were occasional stretches of time when nobody needed anything from her. No urgent phone calls. No deadlines. No problems that required her immediate attention. And instead of feeling delighted, she sometimes found herself looking for something to do. Anything.
She glanced at the notebook. Four things crossed off. Two things remaining. A perfectly respectable list. So why did it feel unfinished?
She took another sip of coffee. Maybe she should clean out the junk drawer. Everyone had a junk drawer. Hers was probably overdue. She walked into the kitchen, opened the drawer, and looked inside.
Batteries. Rubber bands. Takeout menus. A flashlight. Three pens that actually worked. She closed it. Honestly, it was fine.
She stood there for a moment. Then she started laughing. She was wandering around her own house looking for something wrong so she could fix it. This was getting ridiculous. She went back to the table. The notebook was still open.
She thought about how many years she’d spent making sure every day counted. And she was proud of those years. They’d given her a career she loved, a family she adored, friendships she treasured, and more memories than she could possibly count.
She wouldn’t trade them.
But she’d also spent a great deal of time measuring her days by what she’d managed to accomplish. What she’d finished. What she’d crossed off. What she’d make happen. And now, when there was a little space between those things, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
She looked out the window. The sun was shining. The birds were making a terrible racket in the tree near the patio. She could sit outside for a while. Of course, that wouldn’t accomplish anything. She caught herself.
There it was again. That little voice insisting that time needed to produce something.
She glanced at the calendar beside her notebook. Tomorrow was full. Two meetings, a project deadline, and a call she’d already rescheduled twice. Thursday wasn’t much better.
She still loved her work. She wasn’t ready to give it up, and she certainly wasn’t ready to stop being involved in things that mattered to her. But she knew what would happen on those busy days.
Somewhere between the meetings and the phone calls, she’d find herself wishing for a little time when nobody needed anything and nothing had to be done.
She looked at her list again. Today, she had that time. And here she was, trying to fill it. She laughed. “Oh honestly.”
She wasn’t going to stop making lists. She liked them far too much. And she wasn’t going to stop enjoying the satisfaction of crossing things off. But perhaps she didn’t need to turn every open space into another assignment.
She picked up her coffee and walked outside. The birds were still carrying on, apparently with no concern whatsoever for her schedule. She settled into her chair.
Tomorrow, there would be plenty to do. There always was. But today, at least for a little while, there was nothing she needed to finish, organize, or cross off. Maybe this was one of those moment she’d been wishing for.
And she smiled.