The Mind's Cartography: Mapping Calm With Spontaneous List Writing

Mick Haupt Unsplash

When anxiety hits, sometimes the usual methods of calming down (you know the canned answers therapists give you to try first like three deep breaths and grounding yourself in lavender oil or blah blah blah) don't quite do the trick. During a recent bout of particularly uncomfortable anxiety, I found myself turning to an unlikely activity: making lists. Not just any lists–not the cute pinterest lists that people make laying out all of their dream vacations or all of the chores they accomplished or things they will buy when they get their dream job, no. I am talking lists of everything I could think of– moon phases, types of bread, bones in the human body, elements on the periodic table, types of insects. What began as a way to distract myself gradually became a quiet ritual. Filling pages with these random inventories offered a strange kind of clarity, a moment of focus amid the noise of kids and lesson planning that had taken over my brain space. In the process, I discovered the act of listening can be more than just organizing; it can be a small, dependable refuge.

Personal Journey

Before I started filling pages of my notebooks with lists of types of bread I was filling stacks of sketchbooks with tiny drawings of cityscapes that I carefully painted with watercolors I kept in my purse. I found comfort in the repetition and the quiet focus it provided. They were a small version of my larger world. In many of them I drew tiny black cats on the roofs of a house or two to represent my own cat. Or I would throw in other symbols that were meaningful to me. These detail-rich drawings brought a sense of stability and a way to clear my mind.

tiny watercolor cityscapes

Switching to lists during that recent bout of anxiety felt familiar in a different way. It was an

act of repetition , but with the added layer of discovery and research. As I gathered diverse information–moon phases, types of bread, elements, peppers–I felt a renewed itch to learn and explore. The lists sparked a need for research, a continual intake of new details, which echos my life as a teacher– always curious, always learning. Filling my notebook with both lists and tiny cityscapes became a way to satisfy that same craving for structure and new knowledge, quieting my mind through both creative familiarity and the excitement of discovery.

The Creative Process

As I continued collecting and organizing my lists I began to see how the act of listing itself could be a form of poetry. Lists have a long history as a literary device, from Homer's catalogues of ships in the Iliad to Whitman's expansive Catalogues. These lists aren't merely placeholders; they're deliberate compilations that celebrate the beauty of accumulation, repetition, and rhythm. They serve as moments of reflection, where language becomes a tool to structure thought and evoke emotion.

Making these lists during times of anxiety felt like an act of poetry– a way to shape chaos into ordered lines. Each item, whether it was a type of bread or a moon phase, became a word or a phrase with its own weight, sound, and significance. The process of writing them down slowed my thoughts and invited a meditative focus. Something lavender oil and three deep breaths never could do for me.

Lists are fundamental to human history– they organize knowledge, preserve culture, create structure in a world that so often feels chaotic. From ancient inventories and religious scriptures to modern data collection, lists serve as a bridge between chaos and understanding. By turning my own lists into poetic structures, I was engaging with a centuries-old tradition of capturing the essence of ideas through simple, ordered lines. It became clear that listing is more than a mental exercise; it's a vital act of cultural memory and personal creativity.

List of National Parks and Contronyms September 25, 2025

A Shared Human Practice

Making lists isn't just a personal habit–it's a tradition that runs deep throughout human history. From ancient civilizations recording their land and resources to modern efforts cataloguing everything from species to cultural practices, lists have always been a way to organize and preserve knowledge. Engaging in this practice today is simple and accessible: you can start by researching and listing things that spark your curiosity or bring you joy. For example, you might compile a list of different bird species in your area, historical events from a specific time period, types of fungi or flowers, or unique culinary ingredients from around the world. By doing so, you create a space for research and discovery, while also giving your mind a moment of focus and calm. It's a small act that connects you to a shared human tradition–one that helps us understand and make sense of the world, one list at a time.

Give It A Try

If all of this sounds nutty, well, sure maybe filling notebooks with random facts is a bit bizarre if you aren't looking at it from the right perspective. But if you are thinking that maybe this just might be the itch you needed to scratch, then I urge you to give it a try. Start small: pick a theme that interests you– perhaps your favorite animals, historical figures, or simple objects around the house–and begin listing. There is no right or wrong way to do it; whether you write them down, doodle alongside, or create digital compilations, the act itself is what matters. Over time, this can become a mindful practice that offers a quiet space for reflection and discovery. It's a flexible activity that can fit into any day, anywhere–an easy way to slow down, learn something new, and reconnect with the world around you.

The Act Of Composition

In the end, creating lists is more than just a mental exercise–its a form of meditative poetry. Each item, carefully recorded, becomes part of a subtle composition that can bring clarity, focus, and a sense of belonging. Like verses written in a journal, lists celebrate the beauty of the everyday, turning mundane details into personal expression. The next time you are seeking a moment of calm or even curiosity, try framing your thoughts as a poem–one list at a time. You might find that in the simplicity of collecting words, there lies a kind of poetry that brings new significance to what were once small details.