Screw the plan
My father was an apostle of the “learn for yourself” parenting method.
The man who read me Jack London and the original, scary fairy tales (we’re talking the real Grimm stories, none of this Disney crap), wouldn’t simply tell me the definition of new words.
“Look it up,” was a common refrain when he threw out a four-syllable word like it should belong in anyone’s lexicon.
I remember him telling my 2-year-old niece to show some “cognition” while playing hide and go seek.
He was that parent. The parent who never gave me easy answers or dictated the best way to live my life.
His most recent lesson in this vein came after his death — during a phone call regarding what should be written on his death certificate.
The woman on the phone asked my mother and I what should be listed as his occupation.
I stumbled.
Stockbroker? Electrician? Chocolate store owner? Promotional products guru? Fabled Studio 54 bouncer (I know now that’s not exactly true, but how else do myths get made?) Private investigator? Dreamer?
We settled on entrepreneur, but the question and response played round in my own mind for months as I struggled with my current employment.
I always imagined my career trajectory in a linear fashion. A would lead to B, and then C, and then D … etc. I believed in formulas and plans and schedules. I even created a spreadsheet as a freshman in college to plot how I would achieve a double major and minor in various combinations in four years or less before going off to Parsons and Columbia. I’m not kidding:
I lived by spreadsheets and plans, and the expectation that if I worked hard and followed the plan then I would be rewarded with the next step. And eventually the ultimate final step would bring me satisfaction, comfort and stability.
Until one day (an entirely different story), I realized that all my plans were unequivocal bullshit — a way of maintaining a facade of control rather than actually taking charge of my life.
Sometimes, the plan sucks. Sometimes the plan requires too much compromise, too much patience, too much settling. So, you have to screw the plan.
Which is what I did in December of 2015. I left my well-paying, engaging job managing magazines, events and partnerships I loved (and still do). I abandoned a trajectory for corporate success.
My dad saw me struggle with my job and the idea of working for a company’s success rather than my own. But he never told me what to do about it.
Instead, I learned by writing his obituary that life is not a series of predictable plans and that success isn’t measured by how far you move up in a corporate ladder.
His life gave me the courage to begin mine anew. His death taught me there is not enough time to piddle away on waiting for a company or the universe to give you fulfillment. You have to take it.
So, Dad, this is me figuring it out on my own. I only wish you could be here to see it.
