Plans

I have been plagued with this disease since birth. It's called planning. I plan everything to death. Parties I never actually host. Conversations I probably will never have. Escape routes just in case there is an earthquake or fire. You know, normal stuff.

One Halloween I separated all of my candy into ziplocks labeled with the day I could eat them. Thanks to my excellent planning skills I could indulge in candy heaven for exactly 365 days. Plus I would avoid the horrible I'm-going-to-puke-my-brains-out-any-second issue that always accompanies eating 500 mini kitkat bars in one night. It was one of my better plans, I'd say.

Today I found this 5 year plan I made as a freshman at BYU. I had life all figured out. I planned to intern in Latin America, graduate in record time, and move to a far off place with my super-rad husband (who also happens to be a millionaire). I remember sitting in front of my computer for hours putting together 30 different possible 5 year plans. I guess this one beat out all the others.

I was good about eating my one alloted bag of candy per day for about a week. It was a genius plan until I realized that I hate candy bars and tootsie rolls. Especially when they're stale. And I completely forgot about my 5 year plan when I got wrapped up in more important things like watching Dragon Tales with my roommate and registering for classes like photography and floral design instead of blazing through my major.

My plans are always brilliant in the moment they're concocted. But then life decides to be a little more spontaneous than I planned for. So now suddenly I'm an adult and I'm supposed to know what I want and have a vision of where I see myself in 10 years.

And for the first time in my life I don't have a plan. Really. I don't. And even though it frequently gives me an anxiety attack, I sort of love it. I could get used to this spontaneity thing.