Can We Go Back To Plan A?

The Is-ness of Being Is a Bitch

What if we could shift up, it is what it is, to incorporate just a smidge more of… it will be what we want it to be… Just, say, a 30% increase?

Not that I’m not grateful for all of what is, because I am. And not that the is-ness doesn’t usually have a far greater intelligence than my bossiness, because it does… BUT the way it has been repeatedly bitch-slapping my plans is just a bit deflating.

I was simply not born to “roll with it”.

There are people I know who are masters at “going with the flow”. It’s like they were born to adjust to fluctuating circumstances. They have some kind of innate programming that fundamentally gets everything happens for a reason.

I was not born with this attribute, at all.

I am a master at creating plans.

Great plans. Ambitious plans. Fun plans. Elaborate plans.

And I am pretty good at executing details, embellishing and tailoring where necessary. But throwing them away? Altogether? This requires an entirely different skill set involving qualities like easy-going, chill and flexible.

Qualities I do not possess, at least regarding my plans. However, I am getting a crash course given the extreme regularity of plan bashing that seems to be happening lately.

I plan.

I get signs I am heading in the right direction. You know, from the universe. A few things happen that seem to give my plan the thumbs up.

So I continue down the path and before long I am running/ charging ahead, Olympic torches of enthusiasm ablaze in both hands, when out of nowhere the universe throws a bucket of cold water at my head.

The flames go out.

I feel a bit like coyote in the roadrunner cartoons, unable to get the bigger picture message that would prevent me from being victim to my own brilliant plans.

Thankfully I have Leo and Finn who remind me, without even knowing I am about to go up in Olympic flames, that there is a net below my high flying trapeze planning.

The day.

Let me explain. Finn (and therefore Joe and I) could not sleep Sunday night.

Monday morning, Finn spilled his freshly poured cereal all over himself and the floor – an accident preceded by him leaning into his cereal bowl with the weight of his big tired head.

He took a shower, left soap in his hair, added styling gel to the soap and cried through all of it. After being somewhat less than delightful and understanding, I drove them to school.

This is sacred time.

No room for my or anyone else’s brattiness. The five minutes it takes to get to school is a clearing zone for the entire day. Nothing gets in the way of this. It is the place where we each set genuine intentions for the day.

Leo said his intention was to let the day show him the way– to be open to what it had in store– to follow it’s lead.

Finn, who is a little suggestible, but always makes it his own, said he wanted to look into the day, to see through what he thought about it, which he clarified to mean he didn’t want to boss IT around, he wanted IT to show him what to do.

I dropped them off, and as I pulled it away, began laughing.

Oh, that’s right, the day.

Perhaps there is something beyond my big important plans.