Terry Pratchett wrote a series of books about a young witch befriended by a clan of Nac Mac Feegle, strong folk averaging six inches in height. During one adventure, she asks Rob, the Big Man of the clan, if he has a plan. “Oh aye,” he says proudly, and pulls out a scrap of paper from his spog, upon which PLN is inked. No details, just PLN.
I plan constantly, and have a tendency to get stuck in them. When things gang a-gley, sometimes I have trouble adapting to reality. So I painted Rob’s word as a reminder that planning may be a habit (Anxiety likes it), but rarely necessary.
Now I am trying a different approach: possibilities instead of plans, a semantic switch. What are the possibilities for today? tomorrow? next month? Two things I do daily: write and get in the ocean. Other than that, it’s up in the air. I don’t know what is going to happen today, or next week. The possibilities are endless.
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