But I meant it. Every time I think more than a year ahead, the dozens of meteoric variables rushing past my head threaten whiplash. Sometimes the future does come at you, rather than you moving forward into it.
Even peering into the starscape, I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking at or looking for. I mean, I can assemble any sort of imaginary or practical future that I want--but plan? I've learned not to plan. Consider the lilies, right?
There are times when I'd like to plan. There are even times when I think planning could be possible. Times when I would love to be some sort of female John Wayne moving resolutely forward, like some cartoon version of America: 'well, I dare ya t' just knock ol' Maine off my shoulder.'
I think about strategies for ensuring some kind of safety or stability. But that's not planning. Planning assumes a sort of agency and control that I do not possess or have access to. Or planning is like movie acting: writing a script, fully imagining it, and putting together a really interesting piece of fiction you figure other people may enjoy watching.