While sitting at work this past month, one of my friends expressed her frustration that our generation has reached the point where we have to write “articles" as lists, that we have lost the ability to express thoughts in more than a single string of letters before flitting on to the next ones. At first, I thought that there were moments in life when lists are completely acceptable.
Grocery shopping
Cleaning
Being Arya Stark in Game of Thrones
Being a receipt
Recipes and cooking
Holidays
Lists and letters make reading a breeze; time goes quite a bit faster when perusing a list rather than reading paragraphs on end. Yet after hearing on the news that studies have found human attention spans to be shorter than that of a goldfish, I am now inclined to agree with my coworker wholeheartedly. I am completely guilty of wanting to resort to making lists and calling it my finished work. It's so much easier. Is it, or am I just less patient?
I joined The Odyssey because I used to love writing. There is not a single person on this planet, except perhaps my older sisters, who could arrange words and thoughts and ideas in the exact same way as I. Anyone writing on this topic would possess their own set of opinions, and that fact fascinates me. Each individual has had their unique path that has lead them to the exact moment where they are now, each of us has a story to tell. I would never be able to describe every occurrence in my life in a list. Not only do I go on far too many tangents for that tactic to be possible, but I want my ideas, my joys, my relationships, my sisters, my passions to deserve more than a spot. More than a number on a list...
Because
They
Are
Worth
More.
A list cannot adequately describe the unquestionable comfort that I feel whenever I arrive home on Sunday mornings and my parents hug me before turning on their polka music. It cannot describe the tearful joy that I have when my niece refuses to walk at the zoo and makes me carry her for miles. A list cannot encompass the heartbreak that too many of my family and friends have felt. The love that surrounds me everywhere that I turn. The breathlessness that laughter brings me. The only thing a list can do for me is satisfy my attention for a short period, lulling me into a sense that I am being productive.
So while I may occasionally enjoy a list of the most delicious cupcakes from around the nation, I am making a pledge to myself: I will never stop wondering what more is there. What more can I do? What more can I describe? How can I look deeper? I have begun to lose attention; I have grown somewhat lazy. In the past week, I struggled to read thirty pages in a book. For leisure. If it had been a list, who knows how speedily I may have been able to finish it. And who knows whether a goldfish may have finished the book first.
