When Jen asked I join her Planner Perfect movement (okay, “movement” might be a little dramatic, but what else do you call hundreds of women coming together to map out and change their lives?), I was hesitant. We’re sisters, and we may look a lot alike, but in many ways we have very different personalities. Just like our mom, Jenny has always planned her life. In the early days, it was her way of managing her house filled with children, homeschooling and her passion for art, cooking and baking. Now it’s become a way of seeing her dreams realized and helping women do the same.
Me? Planning? Eh. Not so much.
I’ve never been a planner. I never liked it. When my mom and sister called me up to “plan” a family holiday like Thanksgiving, I always tuned out. Why are we talking about who’s making the stuffing three weeks in advance? Besides, I didn’t have to write it down – I could just call one of them and ask them what we talked about a few days before the event while scanning the aisles of Whole Foods. What’s the big whoop?
Well, there’s lots of whoops, actually. Things have changed. I’ve seen the planning light. Because, now – I don’t have the luxury not to.
I’m a humor writer who freelances for large publications, run my own website, and I’m currently writing a book. Oh, and um – I have a newborn and a two year old. I’ve officially lost my mind.
If I don’t plan, it all slips through my fingers like sand. My day becomes chaos that I put together with scotch tape, in the moment, minute by minute. I may get things done, like meeting a writing deadline, but there’s no vision, no path – no real goal being reached. I’m changing diapers and kissing owies and yelling things like “For the love of Peter, Paul and Mary! Get out of my office and where did you find that knife?!” intermittently while putting a half-assed post up on my website. There’s no intention and little inspiration. I juggle 10 balls and drop 7. I may remember to pick some of them up, but often times a few just roll away never to be seen again.
That’s not a recipe for success, that’s a recipe for disaster. Becoming the woman I’m intended to be shouldn’t be so manic. And if I’m not careful, it could all become so overwhelming that I simply give it up. Sitting around watching TV while my dreams pass by like clouds is not an option.
So I’m a believer now. I plan. I map. I meditate on my goals. Some days, a ball or two may be dropped, I’m only human. But I’m going somewhere – forward. And I have my beautiful books to help me. It’s like my subconscious suddenly tangible in pages I can flip and touch and work to better my life.
And my husband and babies like me a lot better when I’m not running around like my life is some damn fire drill. So that’s a plus.
If you’re like me, where this whole planning, mapping thing just doesn’t come totally natural – but you love it and you want it in your life, then we’re in this together. We can keep each other accountable and encourage each other along the way.
And who knows, maybe we can help each other when the balls drop. And I totally didn’t mean that the way it sounded.