#2 – On not rushing through to-do lists

Inspiration from Gary Snyder and my two cents

Hello Friends, 

Welcome to Saran Wrapped Letter #2! 

Today’s letter is going to be a long one so I hope you are sitting somewhere comfortable (preferably with a warm cup of beverage nearby:).

This letter is my reflection on not rushing through the never-ending tasks that fill up many of our days in adulthood.

At the risk of sounding dramatic, I’ll start out by saying that to-do lists are the boon and the bane of my existence.

On one hand, I adore my to-do lists because they allow me to be an accountable person who gets things done. A surge of thrill runs through my spine every time I neatly tick off an item on my to-do list.

But, on some days when my to-do list seems to stretch ad infinitum, I run from one task to another, making no room for spontaneity or relaxation. On such days, I notice the passing of time only when I look outside my window at the end of the day. I see that the night has already fallen, and I find myself cloaked in feelings of ambivalence about having started my day with a to-do list.

A part of me is happy that my to-do list is close to done, but the knowledge that I have not taken the time to savour the particular zest of that one day in my life obscures the thrill of having completed a myriad of tasks.

And I ask myself: If I am rushing from one task to another just to get them ticked off on my to-do list, am I really living my life? Or am I flitting by on the surface of it like a fly?

On some days, I ask myself these kinds of questions, and I often don’t know the answer. Or rather, I have an idea of the answer, but I am unwilling to acknowledge it to myself.

But earlier this year I read a passage in a book that has been helping me to untangle these questions with a little bit of an open mind (and helping to stave off my strong reaction to to-do lists.) This passage has been reverberating through my days ever since I read it.

It is from the book “Hard to Be a Saint in the City: The Spiritual Vision of the Beats,” by Robert Inchausti. I first spotted this book in the Beat Museum when I was living in San Francisco several years ago. Earlier this year, while I was rummaging through my various ‘to-read’ lists, I remembered this book and decided to read it.

It turned out that the book is a collection of writing excerpts from prominent writers from the Beat generation such as Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and Gary Snyder to explore the idea that the Beat movement was essentially a spiritual one. It was a bit of an intense book as the culmination of the different Beat writers in one place created a prismatic effect. I read it slowly to give myself time to dissect and reflect.

One evening, I was reading yet another chapter of the book, and that is when I encountered the following excerpt from “The Practice of the Wild” written by Gary Snyder:

“All of us are apprenticed to the same teacher that the religious institutions originally worked with: reality.

Reality-insight says get a sense of immediate politics and history, get control of your own time, master the twenty-four hours. Do it well, without self-pity.

It is as hard to get the children herded into the car pool and down the road to the bus as it is to chant sutras in the Buddha-hall on a cold morning.

One move is not better than the other, each can be quite boring, and they both have the virtuous quality of repetition.

Repetition and ritual and their good results come in many forms. Changing the filter, wiping noses, going to meetings, picking up around the house, washing dishes, checking the dipstick – don’t let yourself think these are distracting you from your more serious pursuits. Such a round of chores is not a set of difficulties we hope to escape from so that we may do our “practice” which will put us on a “path” – it is our path.”

At this point, I stopped, took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the blank wall in front of me for a few minutes. Then I continued with reading the following:

“Mountaineers climb peaks for the great view, the cooperation and the comradeship, the lively hardship, but mostly because it puts you out there where the unknown happens, where you encounter surprise.

The truly experienced person, the refined person, delights in the ordinary. Such a person will find the tedious work around the house or office as full of challenge and play as any metaphor of mountaineering might suggest.

I would say the real play is in the act of going totally off the trail away from any trace of human or animal regularity aimed at some practical or spiritual purpose.

One goes out onto the “trail that cannot be followed” which leads everywhere and nowhere, a limitless fabric of possibilities, elegant variations a millionfold on the same themes, yet each point unique.”

I was mesmerized by the straightforward and elegant articulation of the simple yet profound truth contained in these words. I also started thinking:

Why do I subconsciously dichotomize my tasks into ‘important’ and ‘unimportant’? Is it a false dichotomy? Is it an unhelpful one?

Could I possibly try to find delight in the ordinary? Maybe I could.

Sometimes, though, what makes me rush from one task to another is not necessarily that I mentally designate the task as unimportant or that I find it unpleasant, but it is just my sheer desire to complete all the items on my to-do list that propels me to rush.

It is so tempting for me to think that the less break I take, the quicker I will be done with my to-do list. But lately, I am finding out that is not always the case. 

The other weekend, I was working on another one of my writing projects (this one is a big one and it’s taking me a loooong time.) At one point, I felt stuck. So stuck, in fact, that I felt that I’d rather scrub the bathtub for two hours and colour code and alphabetize all my cleaning supplies while I was at it rather than write one more sentence in that document. 

And then I realized that the reason I felt that way was because I felt so tired. My body was tired. It felt like taking a nap. When drowsiness settles in during the day, my default response is to not allow myself to do that. I usually never allow myself to take naps because, somewhere along the way, I’ve internalized the hustle culture ethos that says you have to be productive all the time.

But on that day, I decided to listen to my body just once. I took a nap. After a while, I woke up, suddenly worried that I might have accidentally slept for 3 hours. My hand reached out to my phone to check the time. It turned out that only 20 minutes had passed. But my brain felt as if it had been super-charged. I went to my laptop and breezed through a page of writing without stopping. 

And I realized that maybe taking a rest once in a while is helpful. 

Maybe we don’t have to squeeze productivity out of ourselves every minute of every day as if it were the last lemon wedge left in the fridge.

Maybe listening to the cues of our body’s needs is OK. 

I hope you get some rest today. I wish you a gentle day. 

With lots of saran wrapped love, 

Saran

PS: I’m so delighted that autumn is here in the Northern Hemisphere. I’ve been adding “go for a walk to the lake” on my to-do list to make sure it happens lol. Photo by yours truly :) 

View from the lakeshore

Another delightful thing: This poem I read recently.

By: William Stafford

Yes

It could happen any time, tornado,

earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.

Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake

and look out – no guarantees

in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,

like right now, like noon,

like evening.

PPS: If you’re reading this but you’ve not yet subscribed with your email address, please consider doing so. It may seem like a small thing but it is a big encouragement for me. If you already did, you are so awesome for doing that! And if you feel like it, please feel free to share this letter with a few friends too. Thanks :)