I’ve reached the point where it is undeniably obvious that I cannot predict even my immediate future. My friends can look into the future and envision what their lives will be like five, ten, thirty years from now. I might make a guess at what tomorrow or even next week will be like. I know I’m going to be wrong.
Whatever I anticipate going wrong will turn out to be just fine. Whatever does go wrong will be something I never even considered. The universe is just so much more imaginative than I am. It’s so much more complex than I can comprehend.
My life might be less predictable than most, although I’m not entirely sure. Do people who have lives that seem mired in routine actually have the ability to predict their life far into the future? From my perspective it doesn’t seem that they do.
Routine gives some people the illusion that they can should be able to plan and predict the rest of their life. Then they’re left reeling when it turns out life does not follow a predictable path.
No one quite promises that if we follow their advice we’ll get guaranteed results. Regardless of the disclaimers, it’s hard to not come to believe that the nutrition guidelines, fitness headlines, career seminars, and retirement calculators are accurate. And then…things don’t go according to plan. It feels a bit like we’ve been lied to, cheated, or, perhaps worst of all, it feels like we’ve failed.
I’m listening to Jane McGonigal’s Imaginable: How to See the Future Coming and Feel Ready for Anything ― Even Things That Seem Impossible Today. She explains a game she plays with her students: Stump the Futurist. We come up with something that’s certain to be exactly the same ten years from now. She shows us evidence that it’s already in the process of changing.
Perhaps I’ll be better at predicting the future when I finish the book. I’ve got 12 more hours to go. Given my astounding lack of ability, I don’t have high expectations. But, I’ve been wrong before. Just about every time.
I still make plans and predictions. I can’t stop myself. I’ve accepted that planning is an anxiety ritual of mine, not a sign that I’m a Responsible Adult Doing the Right Things. It’s a nice little game, as long as I remember it’s a game.
I find it perversely comforting to know that I cannot predict what will happen in my life tomorrow. When I lied to myself about how much control I had, I felt an enormous amount of shame and guilt when things didn’t go according to plan. Minor things were signs of my failure to account for what might happen or signs of other people letting me down. Now, that weight of responsibility has been lifted off my shoulders. It was something I imagined, but it sure felt heavy.
Something to bring to the next game night.
Josh Kornbluth has a couple pieces on hospice and my favorite is on the folks who dropped out of hoe.
“Prisons are becoming nursing homes"
What do we consider basic needs?
When experts come in to design things for people they know nothing about.
We know the petty cruelty of bureaucracy. Here's what happens when you don't keep up with their demands.
We're talking about the taxes but also about a lot of other things: “I learned a whole new way that America is a humiliating international laggard. Our tax system is about the worst of all possible worlds—expensive, ultra-complicated, inefficient, slow, inaccurate, and an enormous headache for the citizenry.”
Filing your taxes in the US? Here's how to file for free.
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Planning as an anxiety ritual ... yes! I so resonated with your experience: "Whatever I anticipate going wrong will turn out to be just fine. Whatever does go wrong will be something I never even considered." Same here. My planning tools are like a security blanket that I cling to when I'm facing a new situation where I feel a loss of control.
As a former teacher, I always plan my day. Planning gives me goals and, while this is reassuring, I know I might not achieve them. And that's okay. Each day has surprise elements, things not on my list. Yesterday I delivered some of my grief books to a bereaved caregiver, a rewarding experience for both of us. Moral of the story: surprise is always part of my plan.