I love lists. I write many throughout the week on bits of paper, on my phone and even write reminders for myself to either action an item on add one to the list. In the busy life of a carer, if it isn’t on the list – it doesn’t happen.

I recently saw a friend (I KNOW- in real life!) who puts my list game to shame. This friend is generally brilliant, talented, kind, driven, occasionally hilarious, and supremely organised. He’s one of my favourite people. He also has a life most of us (carers especially) can only dream of, because he actually lives it. He has agency and control over it and does what he wants to do.

This is evident in the beautifully formatted lists he makes. He itemises places he wants to visit, what furniture he’d like to buy, or what he wants to do or experience etc. He includes links, images and references. It is basically a life list. And the wondrous thing for me is that I know he will do all those things. They might take a while but he’ll find a way.

My lists, by contrast, are incredibly mundane. They include groceries I need to buy, what extra activities I need to try and fit into my already-packed days, or endless reminders to write this blog. I decided to take a leaf out of his book and do my life list:

Laura’s life list

What do I want to do?

Erm….not be a carer. Damn it. Fallen at the first hurdle, I guess this will be my future life list then. I have no idea what I would like to do once I’m no longer a carer.

Where would I like to live?

I dunno. I think I’d like to leave the UK but I don’t know where I’d go.

Where would I like to visit?

I dunno. Somewhere that has exotic wildlife maybe? But that can’t happen for a long while anyway.

Where do I see myself in 5 years ?

No idea.

What am I good at?

Dunno… making lists I suppose. And crying, I’m really good at that.

As lists go, this attempt is poor to say the least. As I asked myself these questions, I drew a blank. I simply don’t know and I can’t even formulate a wish list. That terrifies me. I used to have ideas, plans, and even ambitions but now I can only focus on the very practical things that need to happen day in, day out to make sure grandma is OK. What I want, in a very real sense, doesn’t matter. It is irrelevant. I only matter in relation to the person I care for and I think I have resigned myself to that. The muscles of my life have atrophied and I don’t know what to do about it because, I don’t know what I want anymore, and even if I did, I can’t make it happen anyway.

So I guess it is back to grocery lists for me – at least I ticked the ‘write blog’ item off for this week.