Life won’t be put on hold, even for the planners

It takes real planning to organize this kind of chaos.” ~ Mel Odom

Are you a planner or a pantser? Even if you haven’t heard the terms, they probably bring up some ideas. In writing, a planner is, well…just that, a planner. They plan out what they’re going to write about in detail with an outline, bulleted lists, notecards and sticky notes. A pantser flies by the seat of their pants—blank page and go—no shackles from a connect-the-dots blueprint.

In the real world, the definitions could be the same. Pantsers might take off their shoes (or pants?) and jump into the water. Planners might walk slowly to the edge, glance over their shoulder, smile, give a thumbs up, turn around, dip a toe in, shiver, pull it back, sit on the edge of the dock, drop both feet in, contemplate if that was a snake or a small stick that just floated by. Tomorrow, they declare. Tomorrow is the day to consider jumping in. And there’s a solid chance they will.

I relate to the planner on many levels. Not all, but many. A slowish, occasionally decisive, chronic over-thinker. Another way to say it is I can’t make a decision to save my life.

Some of us feel fast, others think fast…We aren’t necessarily slow to think; we’re just slower to act on what we think.” This is a quote from podcaster Emily P. Freeman.

In some ways,” she continues, “it’s incongruent – I talk fast, I walk fast, I can finish tasks quickly when I need to. But… experiences have to sink fully in before I have an opinion on them… Conversations have to be sifted through over a period of days, even a week…”

She calls this kind of existence “slow processing.” (And she assures us all, it’s ok, truly, part of the time.)

I hear you, Emily P. Freeman. Actually, I heard you. Like three months ago. Still mulling that around.

I’m going to start talking to a select group of people right now. I realize there’s nothing like narrowing your audience, always a great idea on a public forum. But I’m at a precipice and need some validation from somebody who will nod their head in understanding.

The year is 2021. Ten years ago, it was 2011. In 2012, I was turning 40. Can you see where I’m going with this?

I blazed through that last decade and it was a great one. Just a ten-year collection of okay-ness on my own terms. That’s nothing I’d ever take for granted.

Have you heard the saying about the span of time spent child-rearing—how the days are long but the years are short? That’s true. But it’s all of the days and years. All of them are long and then so very short and there’s always a transition around the corner. But this transition—this milestone one—feels different. I’m right now, eight months from 50. Like, years old.

So basically, as months go, a near-term pregnancy away. Except completely not like that at all. (She laughs, joyfully.)

In the meantime, as time keeps ticking, planners gonna plan. I need a schedule and deep thoughts to think in order to feel prepared. A monthly reflection seems like as reliable a way as any to decipher, at this half-century mark: What I Know / What I Have / What I Miss / What I Hold / What I Want / What I Lost / What I Wish / What I Forgot.

That’s my plan and that’s my schedule. As I start thinking through these “What I’s” for the next few months and get them on paper, I remind myself to take advantage of the benefits of observation and experience. I mean, what kind of occasion would it be without balancing gratitude with some unhealthy thinking spirals?

So, to start, here’s what I Know. I know that I didn’t know how similar almost-50 would feel to 45 and 32 and 21 and 15.

Your inside person doesn’t age,” says writer Anne Lamott. “Your inside person is…all the ages you’ve ever been.”

I know that sometimes you just want someone to lie to you. While I truly appreciate my sister once telling me, “you really start to notice the difference after 50,” I also wish I haven’t had that in the back of my mind for the last several years. The difference? What difference?

I know I like to feel a sense of control. This ramp to mid-century is basically leading me to a second coming of age and I can’t help but feel if I gather as much information as possible, I’ll hold more control. Even if it’s just the guise of control, I’ll take it.

I know I need some version of a band of brothers. Always and for everything. Now is no different. And I know someone out there has an invaluable piece of wisdom I could use. Send it over. Rose-colored glasses are good. Sarcasm is encouraged. Or tell me lies, sweet little lies.

shelley@hillsborofreepress.com

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