A Year of Scrapping Plans

 
Making plans–then scrapping them within a week or two–seems to have been my primary pastime in 2013, especially the second half of the year. And not just for writing and publishing. For The Journal, for my tabletop wargaming hobby, for home improvements and repairs, and more. If I can make a plan involving it, I probably have–and then promptly scrapped that plan.
 
Since I keep a somewhat detailed journal, I *could* count all the plans I’ve made and scrapped this year, but it would be depressing. And I’m trying to avoid “depressing” right now.
 
Traditionally I spend December planning the next year. I pick goals and write them up real pretty in a new entry in The Journal (for easy tracking).
 
I think I might be scrapping that this year, as well.
 
I mean, sure, I’m doing a lot of thinking and pondering right now. About this year and next year, about The Journal and novels and series and short stories and whether I want to buy a 12-inch cast iron skillet or a new tea kettle that works better on my shiny new cooktop, but I’m kinda tiptoeing around making actual *plans*. I’m avoiding specific *goals*.
 
I had 2013 pretty well mapped out last December.
 
That map was balled up and tossed by January 10th.
 
I’ve been making plans and scrapping them ever since.
 
I have actually accomplished stuff this year–including stuff I had planned for the year. But it’s hard to see it clearly through the smoking wreckage of dozens of plans, all scrapped almost as soon as they were minted.
 
There is some self doubt involved in all this scrapping, but I suspect most of it comes from my struggling to deal with how my life and work have evolved over the past few years. From the addition of a new child in 2011 (who spent this year as a very active toddler) to the persistent decline in sales of The Journal (caused by the recession? caused by tablets? caused by cranky space aliens?) to the slow growth of book sales as I attempt to move to a more writing-and-publishing “day job” to turning 45 (tomorrow), all of it has combined to create, in the words of Sir Topham Hatt (the toddler is a fan of Thomas the Tank Engine), “confusion and delay.”
 
There’s a lot of change–and chaos–swirling around me, and trying to choose a path forward feels a lot like navigating the living room in the dark. Not only am I trying to avoid tripping over the furniture, but the floor has been mined with vicious Lego Duplos…
 
As I said earlier, though, I have made progress this year. It hasn’t all been flailing about. Looking back over the past couple months, I can see that the vortex of chaos is swirling slower now, the result of decisions made (and maintained) and growing accustomed to a new normal, and when I look forward, the murky darkness is paler.
 
So there’s hope for the next year. But no real plan as yet.
 
-David
 
Related Posts:
December Is Not a MonthAlmost Time to be a Writer AgainMy Latest Heresy: I Don’t Want to Write FulltimeA Year of Blathering OnEgg Splat