My mother is visiting us in September, and is already sending me draft itineraries. She considers me little more than a vagabond in terms of how late I leave things, but by any objective measures I’m a planner (as evidenced by ye grand olde to-do list you can link to up there). I like certainty, I like the ticking off of things accomplished, I like goals.
So I don’t find it entirely hyperbolic to call The Antidote: Happiness for people who can’t stand positive thinking quietly life-changing. I haven’t torn down the to-do list and thrown out my calendar, but I have taken on a new perspective on planning my life out in too much detail.
I tend to hide behind an ironic little facade at times, but I’m usually sheltering some sky-high hopes; when things don’t go as planned I can be crushingly disappointed. I’d love to claim I’m a roll-with-the-punches kind of girl, but the punches often leave me ugly crying at how my daydreamed-in-intricate-detail expectations weren’t met.
So the idea of ditching five-year plans and bucket lists, of recognizing that we don’t control 99.9% of what happens in our lives and it’s better to just experience the road as it unfurls beneath our feet, is not one I’d given much thought to before, but made my heart do a little skip at the idea of just being free to meander.
This tiny, obvious revolution won’t completely upend my life – I’m still required to set yearly objectives at work after all – but it’s a refreshing wake-up call that I probably spend rather too much time planning to do things and not enough time actually doing them.