I like lists. The very concept of list making is calming to me; lists don't judge. I think, deeply rooted in my core, there lives the idea that, if I can just organize my thoughts in some fashion on a solid piece of paper (preferably of the yellow and green graphing kind), everything will be okay. "At least," lists seem to say, "you have some semblance of structure. At least you can think."

At least you can think.

The future is something wildly unknown, and, at this point in life, I honestly have no idea what it will bring. Thinking is key. But living, I believe, is essential as well. What good are lists if they lead to nothing; what power do they possess if they don't motivate action and change? This year, I'm going to create. This polaroid, the first of 365 (and maybe many, many more), can serve as a testament to that. As can my lists. And the outfits Clair and I plan for our music festival extravaganza this summer. And oil painting classes, and playing the ukulele, and even reading a pretty incredible book

Tonight, I'm making lists. Lists for the year, lists for a trip. Lists for photographic opportunities. Lists of books, and music, and foods, and even dorky ideas for future cd mixes (although I can't quite take all of the credit on that one). Lists to be acted upon, and lists to be shoved in dusty corners, fading from age.

Lists that will, inevitably, provide some form of change.

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