When in doubt, make a list
When in doubt, make a list
on the potent power of list making
The Webs We Weave is a free weekly-ish newsletter on being in flux, staying connected to ourselves and our creativity, and feeling more connected in the world.
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Every day I inch closer to leaving Instagram, and yet I haven't been able to bring myself to do it.
I'm not even sure how much I enjoy the platform anymore, and yet the thought of leaving feels like finally closing a door that I'm afraid I'll just want to run back to and shimmy through again. Every week or so, I get a surge of confidence that I'm ready to pull the plug. I tap the app icon with iron resolve, only to get sucked into scrolling or seduced by the little pink dot telling me I have a new DM. (9/10 times it's a reel from my husband in the next room, or a meme from my friend Matt who routinely sends the best stuff).
One day last month, I got fed up with all my waffling. I opened a fresh note in my Notes app, titled it "What's keeping me on Instagram" and made an honest list—not of every single thing I enjoy or appreciate about the app, but of the specific things that I'd genuinely be afraid of missing out on if I left:
Two bullet points:
updates on current events from Sharon of @sharonsaysso who (regrettably) only shares content on Instagram
DMs with friends that bring me joy
That's it. That’s what stands between me and freedom from the Zuck Attention-Sucking Apparatus.
It's not that the list magically makes the decision to leave a no-brainer, but it does give me something real to work with: concrete details to chew on, an invitation to step into my power and get curious. How might I might these needs another way? Is this list survivable? Is this a breadcrumb trail I want to follow?
Writing this newsletter on Substack has been a wild ride. In the beginning, a rush: limitless potential! creative vigor! an ocean of ideas! And now, seven months in, the dust is settling.
There are days I catch myself comparing my work to that of other writers I admire on this platform, embarrassed at my own disappointment as I watch all that upward green on my metrics dashboard shift to neutral black, questioning the point of it all.
I know by now that these energetic highs and lows are inescapable parts of the creative process; neither feeling lasts forever, and both will return for me again and again. And still, that awareness doesn't ease the whiplash of the ride.
As I scrolled through Substack Notes last week I stumbled across this pointed, encouraging little list that felt almost destined for my feed.
When I read a list like this, it brings me back to center and helps me recalibrate. It pulls me in from the vastness of my overwhelm, my undulating doubts and anxious thoughts, and grounds me in something else: where I'm going, the options available to me, a sense of direction and (dare I say) optimism.
When I'm mentally or emotionally at sea, I find a list can be a lighthouse.
The Power of List Making
I love love love a list. Always have. And while I think that stems in part from being a die hard paper person, it's also hard to deny the alchemical power of list making. Yes, there's value and clarity to be had from emptying our brains and getting all those loose threads down on paper. But there’s more to it, something that runs deeper.
Making a list distills the unwieldy into something potent.
List-making is how I make sense of things, taking something amorphous or unmanageable—a big project, a feeling in my body, a goal, a sense of overwhelm—and finding its shape. Its edges. Its texture.
Lists have a way of drawing out the most salient specifics and bringing them into the foreground—and inviting the rest to fall away. Simple scrawls and bullet points become breadcrumbs, gently leading us away from feelings of overwhelm or immobilization and closer to aligned action.
Making a list orients us toward what's possible.
Whether it's a list of ideas, options, tasks, considerations, open questions, or things I want to remember... there's something about getting it all onto the page and seeing all those little bullet list items staring back at me that reminds me of my agency. List making is an act that moves me out of a passive state of limbo and overwhelm, and into a more active state of participation: what do I make of all this? Which path will I take? What will I choose to do next?
In addition to creating a sense of clarity and order, this act of culling all the possibilities into a humble list is a way of rooting ourselves in a sense of clarity and purpose, oriented toward possibility.
Making a list is a way to hold the present + the future at once.
Speaking as an anxious bunny, one of the things I appreciate most about making a list is the way it interrupts my spirals of overwhelm and worries and unknowns, and anchors me firmly in the details of the here-and-now.
And somehow at the same time, lists have a way of creating windows and pathways into new worlds. Through a simple list, the vaguely daunting proposition of leaving Instagram forever becomes a digestible menu of needs that invites me to dream up other ways I might meet them. I am at once focused on the minutiae of the present, while gently holding a vision of a world I want to move toward—one that suddenly feels within reach.
Last year I worked with a coaching client who wanted to shift the way they showed up in certain relationships.
As I prepared for our final call together, going back through all my notes and jotting down all the ways I planned to celebrate their progress, a surprise email from them landed in my inbox. I scrolled past the first few lines of standard logistical updates, and felt a flutter in my chest.
Embedded in the email was a photo: two side-by-side pages of handwritten notes in a lined notebook. It was a spread they'd created entirely on their own with zero prompting from me, filled with takeaways, affirmations, gentle reminders, strategies, and tools they wanted to remember to come back to again and again.
It all added up to this potent, highly-curated cache of tools and support, ready and waiting to gently steer them on their course long after our work together had ended. But it was also more than that. On that final coaching call, they were the one who explained how this list represented more than just tactical reminders. To them, it was "an opportunity to create a different outcome."
When I look at my list of what's keeping me on Instagram, I can't help but think about the myriad other things I might've walked away from sooner if it hadn't felt so hard to imagine a viable exit route: jobs with difficult bosses, memberships with annoying cancellation policies, taxing (if not toxic) relationships.
What might have been different if I'd gotten really honest with myself about what made me feel stuck in those situations or what it would've taken for me to consider leaving? What would have been on those lists—and by writing those things down, could I have spotted an alternate path sooner?
〰️
Recently, Sharon of @sharonsaysso posted an Instagram story about the changing rules for political content on the platform, about how content like hers was set to be deprioritized by the algorithm, making it less and less visible even to her most enthusiastic followers. In response, she'll soon be starting an email newsletter—marking the first time her news-related updates and content will be available somewhere outside of Instagram.
A wink from the universe, maybe.
Or at the very least, a nudge to tick that item off my list, and consider taking a step toward a different outcome that’s better aligned with my needs and values.
Until next time,
Michelle
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"A list is a lighthouse" - that hits in the most beautiful, resonant way. I love how you talk about these reflections acting as breadcrumbs we can follow to find a greater truth. Thanks, Michelle!
Okay, I'm really, really glad you decided to hit publish on this one. "A list is a lighthouse" is SUCH a good mantra—easily remembered during the height of anxiety and overwhelm. I hadn't really thought about what makes a list *work,* but your points make so much sense. The act of creating a list requires you to get super honest with yourself about what needs to be included (or what doesn't need to be) and why. Though a brain dump might be considered a list, and it's valuable in its own right, I think labeling the list with some sort of intention (i.e. "Reasons to stay on Instagram") is what takes it from unloading to processing. I think this post is a good reminder for the times when maybe journaling something out or externally processing feels too much, too heavy, but you still want to get to the root of what you're considering—and that it works for both grocery items AND bigger, more significant decisions.