
Even though it was 43 years ago, I still vividly remember a cold Christmas Eve in our Pennsylvania home.
It was 3:00 a.m. Our two children, ages three and one, were nestled snugly in their beds, just as children should be on this magical night. My husband had long since gone to bed.
Yet there I sat at our dining room table with needle, thread, fabric, and stuffing, working diligently to complete the final item on my holiday to-do list.
That last elusive task was to hand-make a Cabbage Patch doll for my three-year-old son.
1983 was the year of the Cabbage Patch Kids craze. Demand was high. Supply was short. Rumors would circulate about shipments arriving at certain stores, and hopeful shoppers would jam the aisles on those days. On more than one occasion, fights ensued.
A few weeks before Christmas it became clear that I had very little chance of securing a doll. So, being crafty, I purchased a pattern and materials and got to work. Of course, this project was not the only thing on my to-do list. That list was already filled with the usual day-to-day tasks, along with the inevitable crush of holiday demands.
And so I was behind, facing a looming deadline.
I was tired, but I carried on.
At 3:00 a.m., I attached the head to the body and realized I had created a misshapen mess of a doll. Not only would I fail to finish it in time, it became painfully clear that the entire project was doomed.
It was not cute or cuddly.
It was a little scary-looking and rather primitive.
At 3:30 a.m., I threw the entire project into the trash, shed a few tears of frustration, and crawled into bed for a few short hours of sleep.
Over time, I’ve come to see the many ironies of my actions that night.
One of them is this: on Christmas morning, my son was thrilled with all his Santa gifts. There was nary a mention of a missing doll. The desire for a Cabbage Patch Kid had been far more mine than his.
Yet I had exhausted myself trying to complete that last item on my to-do list.
This memory has caused me to reflect on how many times in my life—believe me, it is many—I have become so attached to completing the items on my to-do list that I lose sight of the bigger picture.
I’m not alone. Many women learn to measure their worth by productivity, by how much they accomplish for others.
I push myself to check the box, to finish the list—often at a cost to myself. In the end, the tasks I struggled so valiantly to complete often didn’t matter nearly as much as I thought they did.
For far too many years, once something made it onto the list, there was no going back.
It was going to get done.
No matter if it no longer mattered.
No matter if other things became more pressing or important.
If it was on the list, I WOULD, at any cost, check that box.
To be fair, there are many times when my quest to “check things off the list” works to my advantage.
As I was finishing my first book, I kept a list of everything that needed to be completed: all fourteen chapters, the cover, the acknowledgments, and the introduction. The list sat on my desk in plain view.
Here’s the funny (and rather juvenile) part: every time I completed a chapter, I placed a smiley-face sticker next to it.
Then I celebrated crossing that item off the list. It became a visible reminder—every single day—of what had been accomplished and what still remained.
That list, with the smiley faces, kept me focused, rewarded progress, and helped me complete a big job.
There is another telling irony in my Cabbage Patch debacle.
My quest to obtain a doll for my three-year-old did not begin because my son asked for one. It began during conversations with my sister-in-law, who was on a mission to secure dolls for her own children. Generously, she offered to try to find one for us as well. We exchanged updates. We shared stories of near misses.
Soon, what began as a casual thought—it might be nice if he had one—turned into a full-blown quest. It was no longer a rational effort to find a gift my son wanted. It had become a hero’s journey to conquer the retail battlefield and return home victorious.
The Cabbage Patch quest is a perfect example of putting things on your list that are driven by other people’s priorities, not your own.
One way to identify tasks on your to-do list that don’t really matter to you is to notice which ones are preceded by the word “should.”
These are the items that linger from week to week. They make little progress. And they carry a subtle weight of obligation.
There is a helpful rule of thumb: if an item moves from one week’s list to the next three times, something is amiss.
At that point, you have several choices.
Eat the Frog: Block time and get it done. First thing in the morning. No excuses. Just do it! This works when something truly needs to happen and you’re simply procrastinating. Schedule it early and knock it out.
Hand Off the Task: Ask someone else to do it. Many capable people exist, and most tasks can be completed quite well by others. Done is done. Banish the thought that YOU must be the one doing the task.
Break It Into Smaller Pieces: Sometimes the problem is simply that the task feels too large. Ask yourself: What is the next small step I could take that would move this forward in less than an hour? A series of one-hour blocks can provide progress, momentum, and help you accomplish big things rather than being overwhelmed by the complexity of the task.
Remove It From the List: Gasp. Take it off the list entirely. Yes—you can do this. And when you do, notice the feeling of relief that often follows.
A to-do list should be a tool, not a trap. It is helpful to have a list of tasks to accomplish. A list can create order out of chaos. It can remind you where you are and where you’re going.
As a tool, a to-do list helps you focus on what matters most—today and in the future.
But as a trap, the list becomes a heavy obligation. We find ourselves doing things not because they truly matter, but because:
They are on the list
We said we would
We fear appearing lazy or disorganized
Rather than living under the tyranny of the to-do list, we can choose the tranquility of intentional action.
A list can become a visible reminder of the things that matter most—where you are choosing to spend your time, energy, and attention. When aligned with what truly matters to you, a to-do list becomes a bringer of tranquility rather than a weapon reminding you of all that remains undone.
Six months later, my son did receive a Cabbage Patch doll. Curtis Rick—dressed in cowboy boots and a plaid shirt—arrived on his June 28 birthday. But this time was different.
This was a gift he had asked for and truly wanted. By then, supply had finally caught up with demand, so I could easily purchase one at a reasonable price.
Curtis Rick was loved by my son and later by my grandchildren. He still remains in the pile of dolls and stuffed animals that have survived the decades.
And the lesson of the tyranny of the to-do list has stayed with me as well. A to-do list should guide your life, not govern it. Your list should serve your life—not become its ruler.
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