Thanks to Self magazine, I have discovered Gubb, and I am officially in heaven. It’s a site where you can make lists, post lists, arrange lists, even set it up to text or email lists to yourself or others. Now, right now, some of you are scratching your heads, saying, “And this is exciting HOW, exactly?” but others, and you know who you are, are not even READING these words as you’ve already clicked over to sign up. (Courtney, I’m looking at you!)
What can I say? I have always been into with making lists. I like to put things down, cross them off. I fear I will remember NOTHING if I don’t have it written down, preferably in several places, just to be on the safe side. And that’s on a good day. Dial up the stress, put me in a situation where I feel even the slightest bit overwhelmed, or out of control (such as, say, having to whittle down a huge first draft into something someone would actually, um, want to read) and this tendency becomes an obsession. It’s just How I Cope. If you want to see how stressed I am at any given moment, look at how many lists I have going. Need confirmation? Check my closet and drawers. If I’m relaxed, there’s a happy kind of disorder. If I’m not, things are organized so precisely you’d think someone had spent hours doing it. Which, um, I probably have. Time I should have spent, you know, working on that draft. But whatever.
I’ve been reading a lot of Buddhist theory lately (don’t ask) and much of it goes against this entirely, saying that we should EMBRACE disorder. Become comfortable with it, accept that we have no control, even if our drawers are perfectly organized. And I can totally see the validity of that, really. As soon as I finish this draft, I intend to explore it deeply and with feeling. Until then, though, I’ll be making my lists. Editing my lists. And, you know, lining up my shoes in my closet. We all do what we have to do, and this, right now, is my religion. Sad, but true.