Context Matters

Every semester, just before classes began, I walked to the Student Union at the heart of campus. Buried in the basement of the sprawling, gothic, limestone structure sits the student bookstore. Back in my day, we bought textbooks. Heavy, awkward tomes I carried across campus in my overstuffed backpack from class to class, building to building.

Course list in hand I strolled through the aisles gathering my materials and wondering how I would ever tackle these subjects. Statistics, finance, French literature of the 19th century, corporate law; my schedule would have me crisscrossing the campus grounds, each week a full circle loop of the almost 2,000 acres. I hefted my books up onto the counter, credit card in hand, wincing at the final price tag and saying a quick prayer that the investment in my education would pay off in the not-too-distant future.

There, next to the register and stacked in neat columns I would find the humble answer to my worries. Free for students – a semester based academic planner. Spiral bound magic, every two pages providing a weekly layout, ample space in the columns to write notes. I didn’t recognize the value freshman year, but it didn’t take long for my planner to become my ever-present companion.

I religiously used my planner to document all the critical details of my student experience. I wrote down class schedules, assignment details, test dates, birthdays, grocery lists. My first ever “to do” list was inked on those pages, diligently transferred and amended weekly, every Sunday until finally everything was done.

Such a simple, useful habit was easy for me to carry forward after graduation into the real world. As I matured, my favorite tool evolved from the standard issue IU student planner to the Hemingway Moleskin notebook. I loved the colorful covers, creamy paper, and the flexibility of the undated pages. I bought colored pencils and pens, a small ruler and highlighters. The slim ribbon bookmark advanced through the pages marking the progress of time.

Only here, at my grown-up job, sitting between the dull gray cubical walls, the list never ended. Every Friday, I diligently transposed the week’s incomplete tasks onto a clean page, a final preparation for the coming Monday. Week after week, the habit started to gnaw at me. First it was a little storm cloud in the periphery of my mind, but soon the repetition wore me down. Was this life? Wouldn’t the work ever be done?

I sat back in my office chair, alarm bells ringing in my head. This felt like an important thought, one that could define and shape how I approach this nascent “career” I was trying to build. I considered. If there was nothing on my list, what value would I be bringing? If I had nothing “to do”, why would I work in this organization? What was the point of all of those years in school if it wasn’t to add value, to move a company forward, you know, to do things?

After a few moments the storm passed, and this thought materialized. The list, my work, my life, would never be done, and that was how it should be. If I accept that truth, rather than push against it, the list becomes a tool to organize and direct my effort, rather than a shackle tying me to my desk. The list will grow and change, ebb and flow, but it will never be empty and therein lies the real magic.

#Patience