The thing you really want to remember.
When I was about 8, there were neon green stickers shining out across countless surfaces throughout my life: my bathroom mirror, my mom’s car dashboard, my desk, my folders for school, my dresser, the TV. A speech pathologist, Ms. Betty, advocated for their use (“The more, the better!”) to remind me to put my tongue in the “right” spot in my mouth in the hopes of avoiding tremendous amounts of orthodontia to correct the issue my habit of incorrect placement had supposedly caused.
Those little green guys were everywhere and it was really hard, no matter how irritating I found them to be sometimes, to look at them and rebel. Even if I squinted or closed my eyes, I just knew they were staring at me saying: “If you ignore me, you’re only hurting yourself.” So I did what the green dots told me to do. The green dots worked to remind me of the effort at play.
Fast forward 20 years or so, and those green dots had morphed into Post-It notes. Stuck to my desk. Decorating pages of my notebooks. Slapped on walls. Flying off both edges of my computer screen like a little pair of wings. These more spacious stickers had become my dear, trusted assistants, my mnemonic devices, my gentle reminders. (“Re-read Frank Lyon vs. United States.” “Diagram the transaction again.” “Don’t deliver feedback in a rush.”)
At some point over the course of my career, those small squares started to deliver a bigger impact. Atul Gawande, in his best-seller The Checklist Manifesto, talks about dealing with the modern-day problem of “extreme complexity” in our daily lives, due not only to our job’s demands, but also to the oceans of information at our disposal. He advocates for (and proves with data) the value of step-by-step checklists — another form of notes to self — to manage yourself through complicated yet routine procedures. For me (admittedly neither a surgeon nor a pilot), I don’t need a checklist for my day-to-day life. I need a reminder of who I really want to be.
Flapping on the edge of my busy day, these notes serve as prompts, of something elusive and precious and often pretty hard. I remember my dad had one, stuck to a column in his office that only he could see, written in his perfect architectural print: “What did I learn from that mistake?” The Post-Its remind me of something bigger I’m pursuing. Without a nudge, my easier-to-conquer (even if long) to-do list can takes over, leaving my best intentions for becoming a better human in the dust.
Just like those green dots, my post-its act as personal rumble strips. It’s hard to look at my note: “Everyone is doing the best they can.” and still be pissed off about someone’s seeming thoughtlessness. Or “What if you just let go?” and not be forced to at least consider whether the effort to engage is worth the opportunity cost of some other pursuit.
Small squares, big impact.
Post-Its have become a frequent takeaway from workshops and coaching sessions. They don’t get buried in beautiful journals often relegated to never seeing the light of day again. I’ll often ask: “What’s the post-it you want to write to remind yourself of the work you did today?”
With all the goings-on of life, don’t we all deserve a little reminder of who we want to be? What might yours say?