I make lists for nearly everything. It helps me organize and ground my thoughts, it gives me a map for what I need to do – an ingenious procrastinating tool, perhaps. I used to judge myself for my talent for procrastinating but I’ve now come to appreciate my body’s need for that *pause* before doing things.

When it comes to vacations, the lists aren’t a tool for procrastination. I’m usually excited for travel, why would I need a list to help procrastinate that? As a child, Mom says she would help with my anticipation for trips by counting “how many sleeps until” we were off.

Last week, my boys and I went on our first trip since 2019 – outside of our safe bubble of a town. It was a road trip to DC then a few days in NYC. I was so determined to plan every aspect of the trip, mostly because it was so short, that I wanted to pack in as much as possible and not-waste- a-single-minute. Every landmark, every meal, I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss a thing we might possibly want to do. I was a bit frustrated that the boys did not have the same fervor for planning as I did but at the end of the trip, I understood why. There was no way to do every single thing I hope to do without a cost. Yes, we did a lot, but packing everything in left us so tired and not enough pauses to enjoy each planned experience.

For this next trip, I do have lists of things I need to do before I leave. In my head, I’ve been thinking about places I want to visit, people I want to see but I’m not going to make a list on paper. Because this trip is unlike any other – so many losses to be reminded of; a ton of grief to face – part of this feels like walking through wet concrete. Every step is so inexplicably heavy and difficult. It also make me think about trying not to touch fire I can’t physically avoid. I’m all packed. My preparations list is getting shorter and I’m trying not to dread this next step of much needed closure.