The Plan Problem
In my studio, I have one of those magnetic chalkboard walls spanning from floor to ceiling, right next to my workspace. A few years ago, in a moment of scheduling chaos, I wrote on it, “Maybe the problem is having a plan,” as a rather exasperated joke. At the time it felt ridiculous. How would anything ever get done without a plan? But after watching every calendar appointment and carefully constructed schedule get ceremoniously knocked off the calendar by the universe (I’m looking at you, Larry), that line has started to feel less clever and more like something I’m slowly catching up to. I don’t quite trust it on a daily basis yet, but I can’t unsee what happens when I try to force clarity or anticipate solutions a little too early.
Lately, that’s had me circling the idea of stability itself, what it actually means when predictability and certainty are not on offer in the outside world. This isn’t a new condition of existence, of course. There was a time when “all we have is now” was an abstraction we reminded ourselves to practice. These days it feels much more literal, and many of the lessons I learned the hard way during years of creative test flights are now being put to use. They’re making old ways of navigating based on well-informed answers feel riskier than focusing on inner stability and sharpening discernment. Noticing scope, adjusting how I relate to things accordingly. Remembering that my perspective will likely be different even an hour from now, and that not everything needs my intervention.
The other things helping right now are surprisingly undramatic. Morning rituals. Making a little order or beauty in my space. Sitting by the fire, wonderful smells, sketching, tending whatever is directly in front of me. And, somewhat counterintuitively, what also works like a charm is sitting in a chair and doing nothing at all for a few minutes, putting the phone down and letting the sediment in my mind settle. I keep being surprised by how much steadiness shows up when I stop trying to manufacture it.
I don’t know if this adds up to a philosophy. For now, steadiness feels less like getting back on track and more like staying in relationship with what’s here, something closer to a loose agenda than a master plan. It’s not especially impressive, but it feels workable. And for the moment, right now, that’s literally all we have.
