At the start of this year, I decided it was time for a plan. After all, don’t gardeners ponder seed catalogs while fields are empty and cold? Nothing too restrictive, just an arrow or two pointing the way, or at least the intent, for traveling the next ten-year stretch. Perhaps I might need new training or skills. Perhaps my budget might need a complete overhaul. But these are excuses for making a blueprint. Honestly, it is the incredible discomfort of living with a big question mark. And what has begun to congeal from this chaotic, planning soup? That my plan is “no plan.” Man, isn’t that the worst?
Yesterday, I spent six and a half hours in quiet retreat. The endless tasks and fun stuff, as well, were set aside for listening hard. What message to share in this blog? How does a “no plan” ten-year plan look? What is my next step? Please, oh please, tell me there’s one! Sitting in silence, I leaned forward so as not to miss the faintest of remarks. I heard it first in that place between the heart and the gut. What is the Word? “No word,” the response. “No plan” and “no word.” How about that?
