Too often, our lives are governed by our to do lists.
We find ourselves pushing ourselves to get more and more done, in the belief, I think, that when we get to the end of our lists we will be complete. That happiness is waiting to greet us with the last checked item.
But the lists keep coming. There are always things to do. And so we're faced with a choice.
Do our lists define us, or do we define our lists?