Well, OK, how to admit this–I haven’t been particularly motivated to write any more posts. It’s not that I don’t have lots more to say, or that I don’t want to say it, but that I feel like I should be able to briefly summarize the large topics of my life into a few paragraphs, type that up, and call it a day. But that would be stupid, and completely waste this blog, so I’m going to try something just as crazy as I am.
Starting with this post, I’m going to share something that I’m working on or have done: It may be cooking, baking, building something, or just assembling something with the kiddo. That’s my hook for me to keep writing. Then, I’ll communicate my topic, which is what perhaps someone would desire to read once they’ve reached the end of the Internet and gone, “I wonder if I missed something–oh, look, a blog.”
RECENT PROJECT
This week’s project was baking snickerdoodles. Yes, of course, thousands upon thousands of people have done it before me, but I haven’t done it myself, so why not try it? The recipe I used was Allrecipes.com’s “Mrs. Sigg’s Snickerdoodles”. How were the cookies? Both the Wife and her friend who was over enjoyed them, and my son called them “delicious”, so I’d say that’s a thumbs up. It’s still weird to me that you pull the snickerdoodles out when the center is a bit moist, because I certainly don’t want to underbake something, but who am I to argue with the results.
TOPIC FOR TODAY
So what do you think about when you’re baking snickerdoodles? What grand plans of the universe might be revealed amidst cream of tartar, cinnamon, and sugar? I discovered the phone screen I was using automatically locked on me way more than I thought it would while reading the recipe. As for revelations, they were small-scale, but one that I had was this: I’m really locked into my daily lists of things to do.
I don’t even remember what book or article it was I was reading a long time ago that had a summary that went something like this: “People who write down their activities for the day get more done.” OK, I thought, this works for me. I love making lists, checking things off, and proving how amazing an amount of things I can get done in one day. With this in mind, I got a notebook, started writing a list (numbered, of course) of all the things I should do each day, and it worked–I was getting lots done, including the small things that might normally slip my mind. Years have gone by where I’ve done this, and I’ve filled up multiple notebooks with my tasks for each day.
Here’s what leads to the problem, though: 99.9% of the time I’ve listed out my tasks, they have been things like:
- Take out the trash
- Fold the laundry
- Clean up the table
- Caulk the windows
And on and on, specific activities meant to take care of the basic needs of life. It’s awesome if they’re all things I can get done within a half hour of getting home. Yet most often the tasks are things that I only get completely done shortly before I go to bed, or <gasp!> I don’t even sometimes get done at all. This leaves little to no time for quality time with my son or my wife, and there’s never really time for friends or events outside of this. The really bad thing is that I feel guilty when I don’t get the things I’ve listed done, which makes me stress out, which makes me a terrible person to be around.
Wait a minute–these task lists were supposed to let me get more things done, so that I could have more time for the good stuff that fills me and my family up with happiness. Did I miss something? Where did I go wrong?
If you’re someone who likes everything wrapped up neatly, here’s where you’re going to be disappointed: I don’t know what’s going wrong with using lists. A lot of the things I write are things that really need done. Do I need to just trim off a couple things and acknowledge that I can’t get them done? Or do I need to add the happy tasks to my list too? I’m going to try one or both of these things, and I’ll share how it works in a future post. For now, I’ve got some weatherstripping to do . . . oh, and vacuuming . . . the cat litter needs changed again? Dang it . . .