The poet Mary Oliver's list

As Umberto Eco, the subject of yesterday’s note, pointed out, lists can be important in several ways.

I’ve heard several writers say they are a kind of spiritual exercise. Mary Oliver’s list might be an example.

When she was young, Oliver wanted to be a poet. She knew writers usually don’t make a lot of money. So she made a list of all that she would have to do without. She was, in all probability, looking at a life spent in rented rooms instead of a house, of riding buses instead of driving a car. It was sobering list of things she would probably have to give up. She gave them a last look and said goodbye.

A philosopher might ask what, exactly, she was giving up. Just things? Her desire for things? 

Her account reminds me of the parable in the gospel of Matthew:

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.

You make the list to find out what matters. The list helps you to see the alternatives clearly. But sometimes there is one thing that stands above the others. When your priorities are clear, you know what to do.

For Oliver, the treasure — the thing of real value — was poetry. She took some interesting steps to secure it.

She avoided interesting jobs. She made a clear distinction between her own creative work and what she did to pay the bills. She got up early — 4:30 a.m. seemed to be her hour — and would write until she had to go to work. Her first hours were the best, and she spent them writing. She assured her employers that they always got her second-best effort of the day.