I have always been a compulsive list maker. If you opened my bag right now you would find lists upon lists of things to do. If you peered into the pages of my journal you would find lists of places I’ve been. If you opened the cigar box on the third shelf of my bookcase, you would find lists (old lists) of the qualities I would want in the perfect partner.
These lists, the ones in the cigar box, are like my orders to the universe. The cigar box is my pnueumatic tube to heaven. Do you remember those tubes you would use to make deposits at the drive thru bank window? Like that.
There was a day last year when I was so sure, so afraid I might be pregnant, that I made a list of all the reasons why it wouldn’t be right to have a child right now, and a list of promises of never having unsafe sex again, and put it in the tube.
Years ago, a week before Matt and I got together, I made a list of why I was ready for my true love to come my way, and then signed the note with “Send him to me this week. Thank you, Andrea.”
The truth is, lists work, and that’s why I make them. They remind me of my intentions, whether I intend to get cheese, turkey and bread at the store or I intend to find a new work space for my business. I compulsively make these lists so I can organize all of my desires and duties. If I can see them, I know they are real.
I learned about manifesting for the first time when I was searching for an apartment in San Francisco (during the boom) and was coming up with nothing. I happened to get a reading from a psychic at that time, who (not knowing I was moving) said dramatically, “I want to move, and I want to move now!?” I was shocked that she knew this, and stared at her with wide eyes, nodding yes.
“But they don’t know what you want,” she said matter of factly.
“You have to tell them how many bedrooms and what color carpet and how’s the water pressure?”
And so I made a list:
1 bedroom, 3rd floor, hardwood floors, great water pressure…
Within three days, my friend called and said “I found it!,” and it was everything on our list. (I should have asked for two bedrooms!)
Maybe lists aren’t just lists to ourselves, but like placing our orders up to the universe.
Maybe lists are like prayers.