I found this note yesterday. It was tucked inside of a publicly shared magazine. I hope nobody wants it back. It was just sitting there, its yellow skin flashing me a mischievous grin as it poked out of a page.

I couldn’t help myself.

I took it.

I don’t know if this makes me a thief or an official hoarder.

Probably both.

I believe it was written by a bored child waiting for a parent to finish an appointment. I also imagine it was written around Christmas time. It is a list. A list of presents for children. For boys and for “grils.” It was as if the child decided to ponder for one day what it must be like to be Santa Claus.

Right now my mind is full of lists. The bills I need to pay. The chores I need to do. The groceries I need to buy. The packages I have to send. The returns I need to make. The posts I need to edit. It can be overwhelming.

For all of those things… for all of those lists… this list that I found made me happy. It reminded me to breathe. All lists are not bad. Or naughty, as it were. The hope or imagination of a child is irresistible to me. An innocent handwritten list of toys made me smile. And I hope the simplicity of it makes you smile today, too. Because maybe our lists aren’t so simple. And maybe we can’t be Santa. But we can imagine what that must feel like. Or put ourselves in someone else’s shoes for one day, whether those shoes meet up with a red suit or not is up to you: