There is no plan
I'm maybe the worst planner in the world. The evidence is in the fact that I missed both George Saunders and David Sedaris when they came to town.
No. 101: There is no plan
What’s that aphorism, expect the worst and you’ll never be disappointed?
I hate it. I don’t hate much. But I hate that one.
Why not expect the best? If in the end you’re disappointed, at least you tried. You had high hopes in the face of a chaotic and unforgiving universe. That’s heroic. Lameness is the pessimist believing they’ve reached some higher plane by acknowledging the obvious fact that things can, and often do, go wrong. If anything, that’s even more reason to hope.
But like all else, the picture isn’t true if painted only in black and white. There’s another, less extreme option.
Instead of expecting the best or the worst, expect nothing. Then whatever comes will be a surprise, good, bad, or meh. It’s another take on living life in the present moment.
The expect nothing attitude generally goes well for me, except for when it doesn’t, like when it comes to planning literally anything.
Last week, I missed the opportunity to see two of my favorite writers, George Saunders and David Sedaris, when they came to town.
Saunders visited the city on Friday night. He was doing a Q&A at the Chicago Humanities Festival to promote his new book. I knew about it weeks in advance and had even visited the ticket page. But I delayed buying.
A few days later, Sedaris visited the very town where I live, which was random but cool. He was doing one of his trademark readings at a theater five minutes away from my house. Why this cosmopolitan author was visiting an old theater on the main street of a small town in northwest Illinois? I do not know. But these were the facts. And again, I knew about the event long before the date arrived and neglected to buy a ticket.
Unsurprisingly, the events sold out.
During my parents’ visit last week, we walked by the theater where Sedaris read the night before. His name was still on the marquee. I told them the situation. My mom asked the question I’d been asking myself. Why hadn’t I bought the tickets when I had the chance?
I said something dumb, per usual. Something like, “It was so far away. I didn’t know what I would be doing the weekend of the event.”
To which my mom replied, “You would have been seeing David Sedaris.”
But I’d like to believe my reason for delaying wasn’t all idiocy?
Perhaps, once again, my resistance to planning came down to my expect nothing mantra (i.e. what if I was dead when the event rolled around, which would have been a waste of forty bucks) mixed with my expect the best preference (i.e. somehow tickets would still be available for Matt Zamudio, one who God smiles upon with special radiance).
Which confirms it. My reasoning was, in fact, idiocy.
Any rational person would take my Sedaris-Saunders situation and learn from it. But I I won’t, not because I’m an obstinate bastard — at least not in this context — but because I’ve been slapped across the face by my lack of planning many times before and I’ve changed nothing.
Put simply, the future is too foggy. I’m prone to forgetting about anything I’ve planned. And, in my defense, living life without a plan can sometimes be really exciting.
My solution to the Saunders-Sedaris problem, for example, was to show up at each theater on the night-of to see if I could somehow get in. If I did, the experience would have been enhanced by my stroke luck and brush with fate. If not, I would have accepted my lot and found something else to do. I didn’t end up going to the theaters, so I’ll never know what could have been, but if I had gone, and if had been able to get in . . .
It’s just a fantasy now, which is enough for you to conclude my logic is riddled with holes. But although it didn’t work out this time, my lack of planning, more often than not, has paid off in spectacular ways.
My last visit Europe is choice evidence. The trip went swimmingly. I backpacked around for two months, taking each day as it came. At night, I would come up with the plan for the next day, booking hostels, flights, trains, and buses as needed. This might sound chaotic to some, but I found it surprisingly blissful.
And when I write, I generally come to the page with no idea what I’m going to do. Usually this works out — ish. I’ve tried planning before, and it’s much less fun. Much of writing, I’ve realized, is reacting to what comes naturally. Having no plan works well for this.
On the other hand, I’m slated to get married in a while and I haven’t been very involved in the wedding planning process, unless you count critiquing the tentative plans my fiancé comes up with like an ass. My tendencies are doing me no favors there. I need to be more involved.
I’m also leaving on a two-week trip to Italy in nine days and have nothing scheduled besides my plane ticket which, in uncharacteristic fashion, I booked months ago. Then, like now, I was worried about not knowing what the future held, but there was a deal on a flight to Rome, so I clicked Buy now and the rest was history. After booking, the trip floated to the back of my mind as an abstract idea until basically now. I realized yesterday that in a little over a week I’m shipping out.
There’s also my haphazard decision to build a writing “shed” — quotes because it’s a small, odd room in our house that’s currently empty. I went to a local antique store a few days ago and spent way too much money on way too many pictures and other odds and ends that I’m not sure where to put. I just kind of figured I’d put stuff in there and be done with it. Now the stuff I bought is scattered all over the floor. When — or rather, if — I figure it out, I’ll be sure to share images of the writing “shed” with all of you.
How have I gotten this far in life as what seems to be a half-baked human? Almost certainly I would have made it further by now with a personal assistant to balance out the parts of me that never developed. If a personal assistant sounds lame, I accept your disgust. But I know myself well enough to recognize the value some well-organized lady or fellow would bring to my life if I could afford their services — which I can’t. They would make sure I saw Sedaris and Saunders whenever they came to town. My trip to Italy would be laid out with audibles like a Choose Your Adventure book. And somehow, they would let me continue believe I’m still a directionless rolling stone, even though, behind the scenes, it’s all planned out.
In any case, I have no answers — what’s new? — especially when it comes to my planning conundrum. What I know is that I’m not, and will never be, a “planner,” as some people like to call themselves.
I can try, and I will. But perhaps my problem is that I don’t view my crapiness at planning as a problem in the first place. Does it sometimes create hang ups? Yes. But usually they’re minor. I accept them, knowing I have only myself to blame. Most importantly, the hang ups are rarer than the rewards.
As Donald Barthelme writes in his essay “Not Knowing,”
The writer is one who, embarking upon a task, does not know what to do.
I wonder if Barthelme knew that, in my case, the task at hand could be literally anything, and I still won’t know what to do.
In that way, wandering through life without a plan can feel a lot like writing sentences.
Somehow, one comes after the another.
From where they come, and how, and why, it’s impossible to say. But they come nevertheless, landing on the page like stones skipping across water. When I follow their lead instead of bending them to my will, I always find myself some where new, different, and better than any place I’ve been before.
Try as I might, there’s no planning for miracles like that. ♦
Weekly Three
HEAR: “Marilyn” by Mount Kimbie ft. Micachu
READ: “Not Knowing” is a great essay on writing and art-making by Donald Barthelme.
VIEW: Mini-documentary on Planet Fitness. I had no idea they had so many strange policies. It’s something straight out of a Saundersian amusement park.
P.S. Substack released a “cross-post” feature! If you’ve liked this post or any of my previous posts, consider cross-posting to help me find new readers.
<3,
matt
I love your mum's response. It reminds me of a visit years ago we made to a French vinyard, where it was explained to me that one should not keep wine for a special occasion; that the drinking of the very expensive wine was *the* special occasion... great advice, tbh 🙃😀
Matt, this is priceless! You are not alone. I enjoyed reading every word and love that it's so spontaneous. It's hard to be spontaneous if you're always planning. I prefer the present to the past or the future. Even when I was young, I hated when people asked me what I wanted to be or do in the future. If you know anything at all about Ayurveda, this is very Vata behavior. We are creative and tend to fly by the seat of our pants. Not very organized. I've written a bit about it on my newsletter if you're interested. And, one last thing. I will never forget where I was when I was reading "Naked" by David Sedaris. I was heaving laughing crying. Your mother's comment was hilarious! Good luck with the writing shed. :)