Michael was a regular at the restaurant I worked at in Vancouver, coming in a couple of times a week to drink sauv blanc with his mate Bill. A lot of things were discussed over that wine and a fair share of advice doled out to me. One afternoon, after telling me how his daughter met her fiancé, he said: “Megan, remember that. Your life can change in the blink of an eye”.
As far as advice goes, it isn’t the most ground-breaking or insightful, but it’s stuck with me.
Martin Luther King may have had a dream, but I had a plan. I’ve always lived ahead of the moment. This was especially true for much of my twenties. If anything ever happened to upset or interfere with my plan, I just made another one. I set goals, worked towards them, achieved them, set more goals.
I’ve travelled much the same way. Even on the rare occasion I haven’t booked a plane or train ticket in advance, the timetable, fare and booking instructions have been recorded in my notebook for six weeks. Along with the hand-drawn map to the hostel and a list of things to see. I’ve tried to leave more things to chance, but I’ve found the pre-trip research to be half the fun.
This week I turned 28, and as usual, the occasion had me musing over life. The last time I was this reflective was when I turned 25 and made a half-hearted attempt at a quarter-life crisis. It didn’t go very well. Turns out I’m just too sensible. This year wasn’t helped by a discussion with friends over whether our parents would ever see their great-grandchildren (or in my case even grandchildren) and the realisation that my mother (who never wanted to get married) met my father when she was my age and was engaged in a matter of weeks.
28 might not be old, but it is definitely very grown up territory.
The other night, after a full 24 hours as a 28-year-old, I did a bit of navel gazing while trying to sleep. Coming down from a ridiculous chocolate, fudge and Crème Egg Brownie-inspired sugar high, rest was always going to be a struggle, so reflection seemed as good as counting sheep. I kept coming back to Michael’s advice. As much as I still think myself a planner, I can take very little credit for what’s happened over the last year or so. Even making the decision to leave Australia wasn’t really me. So often a discussion, phone call or email that I didn’t see coming has set me on such a different path to where I thought I was headed.
True to form, I have lots of plans for the next 12 months
and usually during a birthday-inspired musing session, I’d be getting myself very excited about all of that.
But while contemplating Michael’s words and trying to get to sleep, it wasn’t my plans that I found myself looking forward to most. This time I was more excited for all the things I don’t know about yet: the places I’ll go, the people I’ll meet, the things I’ll learn and the general possibility and probability that ANYTHING could happen.
I’d like to say I’ve resolved to make less plans, but that’s not really me and it would be a fairly meaningless statement. But I am, more than ever before, ready to embrace whatever life throws my way.
