Tend to the Small Things

The name of this post comes from a swap I made with Zachary Kai, a thoughtful writer and blogger who kindly explained how his Title Traders directory works and agreed to help me try it out. (This is such a great idea, and it originated at Kami’s Corner.)

As you might glean, “Tend To The Small Things” is the name of a draft post that will one day appear on Zachary Kai dot net. If Zachary’s name is familiar to you, that may be because he pops up in lots of indieweb places, including the Good Internet article on emailing strangers that I have cited more than once.

I am looking forward to reading what Zachary writes on this topic, but I don’t know what he has in mind yet. So, while trying to come up with my own take, I found myself musing on the imperative nature of the sentence. And then I thought about some of the imperatives I give myself.

This is the to-do list I made over the weekend when I realized I had too many little items in my head. The classic axiom is that each of us can hold about five things, plus or minus two, in our working memory; for me, three is being a little generous. So I keep a lot of index cards and pencils around the house. When my head is full, I empty it onto a card. It really helps.

I have tried many digital to-do list apps, some of which are beautifully designed and have helped my friends. But I know what happens to my working memory when I start looking at a screen. My pencil and paper have no built-in distraction tools, and also my wife can sneak in a reminder to kiss when I’m not looking. That’s two up on my phone already.

Speaking of devices, though. There was a time when people associated index-card to-do lists with something called a “Hipster PDA,” because (oh god) twenty-two years ago we had these things called hipsters and also these things called PDAs. Don’t worry about it. My point is that those little card stacks were in turn were associated with fervent men trying to sell you on a concept called Getting Things Done.

Let’s pause here for a second and look at some flowers I found by the street.

Okay.

So GTD, as far as I understand it, was originally marketed as a way to increase one’s autonomy and ease one’s anxiety by writing things down and then taking them on one at a time. Certainly I appreciate and share the desire to reduce the multitasking stress that suffuses our daily lives. But because you and I live in a certain kind of world, the concept overall was promoted as a life hack that would maximize your productivity. It’s been six years since The New Yorker declared that GTD was over, but there are still many, many web pages and books that will eagerly pitch you on using it to unlock your potential for high throughput.

The thing is, when I think about where I learned to write down lots of small tasks to ensure they get finished, I don’t think about those pitches. I think about my mom.

The kinds of people who would like you to purchase a book and a seminar and an app subscription to maximize your productivity rarely seem concerned with the domestic and maternal. (Not that I’m unaware of certain styles of domesticity being broadly marketed on social media; I think we all know they put quite a gloss on reality.) But when I make my cardstock lists, I’m not aspiring to change the world, or even my own nature. I just want to make sure that in my life and my family, the small things are not forgotten.

A month ago, Kat took me to see the Matisse exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago. Our tickets came for free, thanks to an open offer from our state representative. That’s where I took the photo at the top of this post, which shows a drawing called “The Seamstress.” It was a beautiful day, but cool, and the city was just starting to unfurl its first tulips.

Now the city is in full bloom, as storms and sunshine keep chasing each other across our state. Up here on the Far North Side, you can’t walk around a corner without being confronted by—well, by plenty of airborne pollen. But also by bursts of bright petals and feasting bees. I once assumed that all such things on streetcorners and parkways grew wild; now I know better. The floral life in a neighborhood needs tending, just like Mom’s notepad, and just like you and me.

Thanks again for the inspiration, Zachary. And a happy belated Fathers’ Day to my mom, Joan. This is Brendan from Kaijuville. Let’s not get stepped on today.