Just Think of It As Research

List making, mental blocks, and the power of slipping into another role

May 10, 2023

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I’m a list maker and have been since childhood. As a kid, trying to decide with my little sister what we should play, I’d say, “Let’s make a list!” and we’d each scribble down five things we could do. We’d then compare lists and negotiate from there. My list usually included reading, which earned a scowl from my sister. Introverts don’t always make the best big sisters.

The lists I make now include:

Master lists of client projects I’m working on. A long project list, to a freelancer like me, is what a blanket is to Linus
Master lists of reported stories I want to pitch, and ideas for essays and humor pieces I want to write
Shorter lists of personal writing I need to work on next and tasks I need to complete that week, divided into sections for work and home
An index card with 2-3 things to do that day

Every day, if I manage to stay on task, I can cross at least one thing off. The act of making lists and crossing things out feels like progress, but sometimes the only progress is list making. I know.

The thing is, even when my Sisyphean scribbling is just performative, I get something out of it. For every task I transfer to paper or my iPhone, I remove an index card from the stack in my brain that riffles loudly at 2 a.m. like a blackjack dealer shuffling a deck.

For every task I transfer to paper or my iPhone, I remove an index card from the stack in my brain that riffles loudly at 2 a.m. like a blackjack dealer shuffling a deck.

I’ve been thinking about productivity and concluded I’m more content when I’ve made good use of my time. I allow myself downtime too—always, it seems, when my husband is in full get-it-done mode. He might pass the living room 12 times on a Saturday on his way to do yard work, pick up groceries, put gas in the car, or walk the dog, and I’ll still be molded into my recliner, under a blanket, clutching a book, journal, or laptop.

There are certain tasks, though, that I will rewrite 16 dozen times on my list because I cannot get myself to devote energy toward them. As a result, they loom larger than they should—like a shadow monster you make as a kid when you’re lucky enough to score a flashlight from the junk drawer that actually works.

I have boxes of items that used to belong to my parents that I’ve been promising to mail to my sister in Colorado (See? Bad big sister). I can’t bring myself to pull them out and drive to the UPS store. I still have to get my Real ID, which means driving to the DMV to present my birth certificate, marriage certificate, passport, utility bill, DNA sample and blood of my firstborn.

And I have to figure out how to drop my cable, cobble together the right combination of streaming services to satisfy the three people living in my house, and still save money—which sounds easy, since anything should be cheaper than cable, but somehow it keeps adding up.

What I need is an assistant. Or, to pretend to be my own.

My friend Matt sent me an article about a guy who pretended to be his own assistant in order to bulldoze his way into hard-to-get reservations, upgrades, access to VIPs and more. It’s an intriguing idea—slipping into a different persona to be more assertive, without having to bear the repercussions of ruffling feathers. If someone gets too miffed, you can be a hero and fire the fake assistant.

It reminded me of a trick I stumbled onto years ago. My daughter has celiac disease and we were planning to take her to Disney World for the first time for her 11th birthday. This was more than 15 years ago, before most restaurants had gluten-free menus. At the time, I was blogging for a major celiac organization and had the idea to write about my trip.

Immediately, something inside me shifted and I picked up the phone (like I said, years ago) and without hesitation, asked to speak with the top people in charge of guest relations and food services for the resorts. Everyone I spoke with was graciously accommodating and on the trip, we had a level of personalized service I haven’t experienced since. Chefs at every restaurant stopped by our table to discuss gluten-free options, and one even slipped us freshly baked treats for later in case my daughter got hungry.

It’s no surprise Disney World was well ahead of the curve when it came to the guest experience. But what did surprise me was this: I never had to reveal I was writing about our trip. We didn’t get special treatment because I was going to report back to tens of thousands of people who read the celiac group’s blog each month. Instead, my confidence was boosted by my invisible reporter’s credentials. I had slipped into the role of an observer, and any reticence I might have felt about asking for accommodations fell away.

Remembering that experience now, after actually becoming a legit journalist with bylines in publications like The Washington Post and WIRED, I realize I still rely on my credentials to get what I need. Only now it’s information.

I interviewed a social worker recently for a story I was commissioned to do about caregiving a parent, and included questions I wanted answers to, given my elderly mother’s cognitive decline. I’ve interviewed neuroscientists about how the brain handles anxiety, and mental health experts about preparing to be an empty-nester. I figure if I’m curious about these topics, others are too.

In the early days of the pandemic, when my anxiety was spiraling out of control, I reached out to the communications team at one of the hospitals I do marketing for to offer writing support. I was immediately assigned a COVID-related project and put in touch with infectious disease experts at the highest levels.

Once again, having a seat at the grownups’ table shifted things for me. I was reminded that smart people were on the frontlines. I felt that delusional sense of safety that comes from being on the inside—nothing bad ever happens to the meteorologist broadcasting live in a hurricane, right? Though peripheral to the essential hospital team, my role calmed me, allowing me to focus my attention on being productive and useful.

I felt that delusional sense of safety that comes from being on the inside—nothing bad ever happens to the meteorologist broadcasting live in a hurricane, right?

I may just need to tackle this cable project as a story. My angle could be procrastination when it comes to inane tasks, and I’ll interview a behavioral expert, a life coach, and a neuroscientist. Maybe I’ll handle it as an essay on nostalgia for simpler choices, though if I really wanted to simplify my life, I’d drop the cable, pick up a book, and call it a day. Maybe I’ll pitch a straightforward “I did this and here’s how it went” piece about investigating my seemingly endless, confusing options and sharing where I landed. Maybe my cable provider will read this and offer me an unbeatable rate to stay put.

I’ll probably just end up making lists:

Shows I want access to in real-time
Shows I can catch later on Netflix or Hulu
Streaming network must-haves
Streaming network would-be-nice-to-haves
Bundles vs. à la carte
Cost per month and per year, with potential savings
How to get live sports without paying the equivalent of rent in TriBeCa

If nothing else, I might sleep better tonight. My stack of mental index cards already feels lighter.

Three Things That Entertained, Intrigued, or Inspired Me

1) This Instagram spoof by @itsevenwilliams of every Quentin Tarantino movie cracked me up.

2) I’ve been a fan of Jo Piazza since her podcast, Under the Influence. She’s on Substack now with a newsletter called Over the Influence and her recent post, “I Have Five Damn Jobs” was fascinating and hit close to home. Being self-employed in marketing and communications for more than 20 years, I’ve pivoted several times to offer additional services to my clients. It increases my value and efficiency, which benefits my clients, and protects me from downturns in the economy — like having a diversified portfolio, which was actually the premise of her post. Read it and let me know what you think.

3) I was inspired by this Substack post by Suleika Jaoaud. It made me think about the ripple effect of a grand and generous act — in this case, her brother Adam’s two-time, life-saving gift of bone marrow. The first time Adam saved his sister’s life, she went on to write a bestselling memoir and launch The Isolation Journals (TIJ), a global creative community that’s touched hundreds of thousands of lives. If you’re familiar with my writing, you know TIJ was instrumental in helping me onto my current writing path. Suleika’s creative prompt this week was to plant a seed of hope. I imagine every person her writing has inspired as a tiny seed that will grow something beautiful or thought-provoking or kind — and their words or acts or works of art will touch others and yield more seeds of inspiration, and so on. Because one person donated bone marrow to help his sister. I was surprised to learn that registering as a potential donor involved just a cheek swab, and the actual donation process was similar to a long blood transfusion. Donors must be age 18–40. I’m (ahem) over 40, but I’m hopeful that with this post, I can inspire one person to join the registry.