That’s the thing about plans. As fickle a plan may be, like a dew drop it doesn’t die before giving you that tiny hint of hope. It doesn’t melt away before showing you the way. It doesn’t matter if it’s the right way, as long as it pokes you into action, or gives you an ”aha” moment, all is good!

I have never been a planner. I always joke about how plans and I don’t get along. Remember those clichéd quotations about not planning because then when they don’t materialize, our itsy-bitsy hearts crumple? As if an unfinished plan ever killed anyone. Well, I don’t know if that really makes sense any more. Our existence is based on a plan. As elaborate and as vague as it may be, but it’s there, written somewhere within invisible maps. That’s how we are programmed. We need some nuance of a direction to get through the day. We need some subtle hint of objectivity to feel sane in a world that’s all about uncertainty. So why not plan?

I plan to plan. I plan to write. I plan to publish a book some day. I plan to get back to my pre-baby weight (don’t we all!?). I plan to be a better mother. I plan to be a person who matters, not just to her family and loved ones, but to people who aren’t. I plan to move back home some day. I plan to stay close to my parents. I plan to give my children some of the glorious days I lived as a child. I plan to smile more again. I plan to stay more hopeful. I plan not to become cynical and grumpy, but a happy-go-lucky, adventurous old, wrinkly woman. I plan to take care of myself by looking and feeling better.  I plan to sit straight, stand tall and look within. I plan to cry when I’m happy. I plan to smile when I’m sad. I plan to scream less, speak more, and listen the most. I plan to breathe. I plan to see. I plan to touch. I plan to taste. I plan feel. I plan to treat my heart like the infinitely flexible rubber that it is; stretch, stretch, stretch. Oh, and I plan to plan.

This is where plans are different from dreams. Plans are more believable and seem to have more substance. If it’s a dream, then sadly, it may remain as such. Dreams often take the guise of magical fairies living in enchanted distant lands. You imagine them, but you can’t rummage the courage to touch them, or to go look for them. They are also different from wants. We want a lot of things, but without a practical roadmap, they just shrivel up and die, like leaves without water. But if it’s a plan, you are compelled to replace its imaginary existence with something tangible. You are required to breathe life into it in order for it to exist. A noticeable connecting dot. A tingle of light. A checklist. Day 1. Strike!

Sure, it’s not all about the choice of words. It never is. Plans, dreams, hopes, aspirations, desires, wants. At the end of it, they are just combinations of letters we use to give meaning to our lives. Without them, what’s the point? But even with them, is there a point? There is meaning as long as you’re alive. And as long as you’re alive, there has to be a reason. And plans just might give us all that.

My mind’s just spitting up randomness that, in all honesty, might not make any sense. But I’ll always include these words in my vocabulary. I don’t think I want to flee from planning anymore. I will stumble and my toes might bump into some of life’s heavy furniture. And it may hurt as hell. But if I don’t plan to be a better than I was before, there really is no point. Period.