I’ve decided my to-do list has developed a personality. Not a pleasant one, either.
Every evening, I sit down with the best of intentions and make a perfectly reasonable list for the next day. Feed the chickens. Fold the laundry. Water the garden. Write for a while. Make a quick trip to town if I need feed or groceries. Maybe bake a loaf of bread if there’s time left over.
Looking at it on paper, it seems entirely doable. Looking at it from the end of the day, I have no idea whose list I actually accomplished.
Somewhere between that first glass of sweet tea and sunset, life gets in the middle of things, crosses out half my plans, and writes in a few of its own. I don’t even remember voting on the changes.
Living on a farm has taught me that animals rarely consult calendars. They don’t care that today was supposed to be my writing day or that I’d finally planned to clean the house from one end to the other. If something escapes, gets sick, knocks over a feed bucket, or decides the grass really is greener on the other side of the fence, my carefully planned schedule suddenly becomes little more than a historical document.
The funny thing is, the interruptions aren’t always the farm’s fault.
I’ll finally sit down at my desk, feeling rather pleased with myself for getting chores finished early, and suddenly remember I never took anything out of the freezer for supper. Well…there goes writing for a little while.
Or I’ll gather my purse, find my keys, lock the front door, climb into the truck, back out of the driveway, and barely gain any speed before I find one of my cows standing in the middle of the road, blocking my way. Or worse, I may be halfway to town before remembering the grocery list is still sitting on the kitchen counter exactly where I left it so I wouldn’t forget it.
I’ve also noticed that laundry possesses a peculiar talent. If I spend an afternoon getting every last towel folded and every basket put away, someone will appear wearing the only muddy pair of jeans on the entire farm and ask, “Are you doing another load today?”
The answer, of course, is yes. Apparently I am.
Then there are the days when I actually start checking things off my list. Those are dangerous. About the time I begin feeling unusually productive, the phone rings, someone drops by the house, a gate needs repairing, or one of the dogs decides today would be an excellent time to investigate whatever mysterious smell is coming from the woods. Which usually ends up being a skunk. Which means an unscheduled bath time for the dog.
I’ve become convinced that life has a wonderful sense of humor whenever I start feeling overly productive.
For a long time, I thought successful people must simply be better at managing their time. Surely they had discovered some magical system that allowed them to finish every single thing on their lists before bedtime.
I don’t believe that anymore. I think they’ve simply learned something I was slow to figure out.
A to-do list is a guide. It is not a contract.
That’s especially true on a farm, where every sunrise brings the possibility of something completely unexpected. Sometimes those surprises are frustrating. Sometimes they’re expensive. Occasionally they’re downright exhausting.
And every once in a while, they’re wonderful.
I’ve had neighbors stop by just to visit. I’ve watched calves discover they can run just for the joy of running. I’ve spent far longer than I intended standing at a fence because the evening sky was putting on a show no television could ever compete with. Then there are those evenings when the trees fill with so many fireflies they look like blinking Christmas trees.
None of those things were written on my list that morning.
If I’d been determined to finish every single task before allowing myself to enjoy the day, I would have missed every one of them.
That’s been a hard lesson for someone who genuinely likes crossing things off with bright red ink.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m still going to make my lists. Tomorrow evening I’ll probably sit down with another piece of paper and convince myself that this time I’ve finally estimated everything correctly. Old habits are hard to break, and honestly, I don’t think I want to break this one.
Lists help me remember what matters. They just aren’t very good at predicting what will matter most.
By tomorrow afternoon, there will probably be something on my list that never gets finished. There will almost certainly be something that wasn’t on the list at all but somehow took up an hour or two of my day. If history repeats itself, I’ll end the evening wondering where the time went.
But I’ve begun to notice something. The days I remember most aren’t the ones where every little box got checked. They’re the ones where life quietly ignored my plans and handed me a better story instead.
So these days, when my to-do list starts acting like it has declared war, I don’t argue with it nearly as much as I used to. I straighten my paper, sharpen my pencil, take another sip of sweet tea, and smile.
Because around here, the farm usually wins.
And truth be told…
I’m perfectly happy to let it.
Come Back Anytime…
…I’ll leave the porch light on for you.
Until next time…travel safely.
Stroll Down Another Path
Another Porch Conversation
There’s always room for one more conversation.
Hands at Work
Sometimes the best conversations continue with busy hands
Another Garden Path
When one conversation naturally leads to another.
The Bookshelf
Stories, books, and favorite reads that have found a place on my shelf.
Front Porch
Head back to the porch and see what’s new.
Leave a Note on the Porch