To Do or Not To Do: That Is the Question

My to-do list runs my life.

I check it several times every day. I take great pleasure in ticking items off the list. If my to-do list is complete, then even if there are other things I should be doing, I feel a sense of accomplishment and peace. If it isn’t, even if the only item left on there is something I know I don’t need to do today (or at all!), it worms into my brain and stays there, whispering negativity.

Is this helpful?

I like lists, so it’s no wonder that to-do lists appeal to me. When I was a kid, one of my favourite parts of vacations or birthday parties was the anticipation: the lead-up in which I could make lists of what I wanted to pack, which books I needed for the car, or what food I wanted to serve my friends.

As an adult, I haven’t changed much. In the week I’m writing this, one of my chief entertainments has been listing and re-listing the different canapés I want to serve at a holiday party. Scouring online recipe databases and finding maximum tastiness and nutrition with minimum effort is a more appealing game than, uh, my actual games.

Likewise, I love writing grocery lists and making the week’s menu for my household. It’s like a logic problem that allows creativity and the anticipation of yummy food and fun expansions of my cooking skills. I need to minimize cost and waste but maximize utility and enjoyment. Way more engaging than marking another thirty papers!

It helps that I learn by writing: I remember things when I write them down, even if I never read them again. My go-to study habit for university memorization was to write down everything I needed to know on a single “cheat sheet.” Odds were that by the time I was done, I’d have those Latin declensions or linear algebra algorithms under my belt already.

Likewise, making neat little bullet points or orderly rows of words helps me to organize my own thoughts. When I write notes about my works-in-progress, I feel both a swell of creativity and the same satisfaction I get when I finish folding the laundry and know everything is neat and orderly in its place. Listing things is a pretty good way of taming them–the very act forces you to name your stress, dreams, or fears.

So typing my agenda into my Gtasks app, carefully ensuring that particular tasks repeat daily or weekly or monthly as appropriate, lifts stress from my shoulders. I no longer have to make my short-term memory juggle a handful of minor tasks; just giving each one a specific name helps disintegrate that formless blob of “OMG MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEEEEEEP” into manageable pieces. Divide and conquer.

And I love the reward of ticking off one of my chores and watching it disappear from the list. That surge of dopamine is so pleasant that I seek it out: at least half the video games I play are glorified to-do lists. I love ’em whether they’re freemium time-wasters like The Simpsons: Tapped Out (literally just tap various characters as instructed and wait for them to complete their jobs) or critically acclaimed JRPGs like the Persona series (where most of the game is about balancing different tasks — get to level X, complete this quest, study for your test, go talk to your friend after school but first buy the armor from the shop). I even get annoyed with media that don’t give me that satisfaction; for goodness’ sake, Netflix, there’s only one minute left of the movie, and it’s all credits. Can’t you just make it disappear from the list and give me some closure?

Which leads me to the darker side of to-do lists.

Sure, splitting up daunting responsibilities into bite-sized tasks is a good way to cope with feeling overwhelmed. But it also rewards piecemeal thinking. Some projects worth undertaking can’t be broken down without losing an important part of what makes them worthwhile. For example, exploring what great literature has to offer or developing one’s relationship with a loved one are nuanced, continuous activities that can’t be checked off at arbitrary waypoints. Yes, you can count the number of hours you spend with your parents or cross books one by one off your list, but that mistakes the necessary for the sufficient.

Some goals aren’t quantifiable or discrete, but that doesn’t make them any less worthwhile.

Worse, some larger goals give the illusion that they can be broken into these bite-sized chunks (“go to the gym on Tuesdays!” ” earn at least 10 points on Duolingo!”) but in reality are holistic goals (“have more energy and feel healthier!” “learn to speak German!”). They can’t be accomplished by counting the number of times I complete a specific task.

And even when I know this, I have a tendency to focus on what’s on my to-do list rather than what motivated me to add that thing to my to-do list. I can’t stand the idea of a box unticked: even though every cell in my body is telling me that today is a bad day to go lift weights, the thought of not completing my list torments me. What should be an easy decision becomes a dilemma.

Likewise, I never think: do I need to complete this task I’ve set as daily this particular day? Do I need to spend some time on my blog, or do I have enough stored entries for the weeks ahead? Would I be better off relaxing? Tonight, isn’t spending some time with my boyfriend more important than writing an extra 50 words of garbage?

The idea of doing without a to-do list sends chills down my spine. How would I remember when to return my library books? Would I manage to email that person who keeps slipping my mind? How would I structure my day? Perhaps most of all, how would I mark the end of a chore that took me a lot of effort in a way that acknowledges my satisfaction?

But sometimes, it’s important for me to remember that my list is a tool, not a guide. I have to use it and not let it use me.