How I’m Learning to Create More “Perfect” Moments

It was supposed to be the happiest place on earth. But my husband and I stood, a good thirty-six inches apart, both of our feet firmly planted in an argumentative stance, smack dab in front of the statue of Walt Disney holding Mickey Mouse’s hand.

I imagine I had fiery eyes, and I’m pretty sure his were rolling back in his head as I stated my case while a sea of 40,000 people swept around us.

I had planned this family vacation for weeks. Disneyland isn’t somewhere you just show up, every mama knows. There are tips and tricks to navigating the place. I felt like my husband expected me to know all of these, like which park the Magic Hour was at, or where the Dole Whip stand was, or how to navigate the FastPass system.

Sound confusing? Despite my research, I was baffled. And frustrated.

Such is life, right? No one starts a business expecting to shut it down within a few years. We don’t get married expecting to get divorced. We don’t plan to have kids expecting to struggle with infertility.

We don’t go to Disneyland and think we’ll end up arguing in front of Walt and the rest of the Magic Kingdom. Very few of us go through life expecting these curveballs. But curveballs are a reality, right?

Sometimes life doesn’t go according to plan; or, at least, not according to our plan.

Photo Credit: Huber Yu, Creative Commons

I’m interested in a practice that stems from the Buddhist and Hindu tradition, called “non-attachment”. It means that rather than clinging to certain outcomes (visions of what could be) or certain people (or what we imagine they could be), we should remain grateful for, but unattached to, what currently is.

Count your blessings, but hold them loosely.

Our culture doesn’t endorse this philosophy.

The secular voice would tell us that we have needs to be met and wants to be satisfied and that, by all means, we should attempt to meet and satisfy them—and then hoard them like trophies doomed for dusty shelves in the McMansion to which we are entitled.

We diligently work to avoid anything negative. We’re quick to buy solutions to our problems, from stains on our laundry to blemishes on our souls. And we long to preserve the mountain top moments, squeezing out every last drop of the happiness emotion. And instead of living, we end up spending every moment trying to control the narrative of our lives.

The idea of letting go of “the plan”? It’s an incredible idea, if still one that seems nearly impossible to me.

Not try to control every single outcome of my life? Not cling tightly to the relationships that I hold most dear? Not attempt to design every aspect of my existence, so that I can ensure my utmost happiness and well-being while securing my legacy?

Sure sounds like crazy talk.

But I know—and I think you do, too—that it’s not. That “non-attachment” is a much more realistic practice than it seems, because really, when have we ever had control of the narrative? When has clinging to something ever ensured that it was ours forever? When has life turned out exactly as we’d planned?

This practice isn’t just specific to those who study and practice Buddhism, though. Within my own faith, we’re always being called to practice something similar. In Matthew 16, Jesus tells us that to be His disciple, we must deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow His plans.

Let go of our plans, and lean into His.

When things don’t turn out the way we plan, it’s time to start looking for another set of plans.

As my husband and I both stormed away from Walt’s statue, I knew it was time to look for Plan B. Something was amuck in the Magic Kingdom. Vacations are hard: people get tired and grumpy, and neither one of us had been feeling well.

I had a choice at this moment.

I could either hang onto my idea of the perfect vacation, or look for the lesson that might hopefully redeem the next day and a half.

I like to think that God has a pretty great sense of humor. I don’t think He likes to mess with us just for kicks and giggles, but I do think that He tries to get our attention in a bunch of unexpected, fun ways. And sometimes, I think we’re so busy hanging onto our plans that we don’t see His.

By the time my head hit the pillow that night, I’d decided to let go of my plan. We were all exhausted. I mumbled a meager strategy for the next day to my husband as we both fell asleep: as soon as our kids were awake, we’d head out to the parks quickly, to get to some of the longer-line rides before the crowds surged.

My kids are early risers.

By 6:45 the next morning, they were dressed, and we were out the door by 7:15. We headed towards the park, showing our hotel keys for the Magic Hour we received as hotel guests. As we passed a crowd of folks who had to wait another 45 minutes to enter the park, I looked at my husband out of the corner of my eye.

How had we just wrangled that?

We headed to the Cars ride—one of the park favorites, and our kids rode it twice before the lines hit. As we walked away from the ride, we were completely astounded. For something that we hadn’t planned, it sure had been a delightful morning. We both laughed.

The surprising thing is, letting go of our own agenda and leaning into being present can sometimes produce the best outcome.

Towards the end of the second day of our vacation, we found ourselves standing in a short line to ride the famous teacups, when suddenly, a beat dropped, and we realized that the nightly parade was going right by us. We hadn’t planned to see the parade. In fact, by that point, I’d quit planning things altogether.

We were along for the ride, literally and figuratively, whatever it looked like. But as we spun in teacups, under charming, bright-colored, Chinese lanterns, and the magical, twinkling dancers and parade sailed by us, it was the perfect moment.

The perfect combination of details: the hidden Mickey, the mark of His workmanship, instead of my plans.

The lesson I learned was a simple one: you can’t plan the perfect moment.

The hallmark of the perfect moment is that it is unplanned. It is unexpected, and it shows up to remind you to quit planning and start savoring.

January offers us a fresh, clean start. It’s tempting to load our planners up with goals and ideas and lists of things we want to do and adventures we want to have. But there’s an art to leaving things unplanned.

So as you set new year’s resolutions or goals or intentions, no matter who you are, I’d like to encourage you: hold your plans loosely. Be on the lookout for a God curveball, and if one comes, hold on for the ride.

You just might stumble into the perfect moment.