Planning, shooting, and living

John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens when we’re busy making other plans.”

When the semester began, I had all kinds of plans.

What matters more, though, are the plans I didn’t make.

I didn’t plan on finding a lifelong friend and mentor in my supervisor at one of my jobs. Having someone I can talk to about absolutely anything has proven to be an invaluable resource throughout the semester.

I didn’t plan on being so disinterested in the classes I selected as part of my new individualized major. I started with an open mind, but eventually eased into a steady mental withdrawal from each and every one of the courses I expected to love.

I didn’t plan on becoming best friends with some of my coworkers at the Indiana Daily Student. We might not be a family, but it sure feels that way sometimes. Spending late nights in the newsroom became all too regular, and I couldn’t be happier that it did.

Looking forward to my final year as a student at IU, I can’t help but think about what lies ahead: scheduling classes that will lead me in the right direction; finding an apartment to escape one hellish roommate; deciding which extra-curricular activities and jobs will put me in the best place for employment after graduation.

Yes, of course there is planning involved.

But what I have learned this year is that life happens. Doors open and close. While we are busy planning the rest of our lives, we are living today in this moment.

While I have always considered myself a goal-oriented person, my experiences this year have taught me these goals are not permanent. They are not etched in stone. I didn’t print any in the IDS, so I’m safe on that front as well.

Growing up on a cul-de-sac, the kind of goals I found myself thinking about most often were basketball goals.

There were those monster Goalrilla goals that cost more than $2,000. They were bolted to a concrete foundation that had been poured deep in the ground.

All of us kids were jealous, and we hoped one day we could have a goal like that.

The kids who owned these, though, were too obsessed with their piece of equipment to step off their driveway even if it meant playing alone and missing out on our fun.

The alternative was a goal that was not so permanent. The base was filled with water, and oftentimes a sandbag or a few bricks sat on the back to keep it steady — a vital condition for an official game of H-O-R-S-E.

This goal served the same purpose. It gave us something to shoot toward. But if we needed to move it to someone’s driveway because there was a car parked on the street, we could drain the water from the base and lug it across the circle.

Sometimes in school, in a career or in life, we need to let the water drain and alter our goals.

While it may be impressive to have a monumental goal planted so deep, we must be prepared to change, to move on, to start fresh, to live.

We can’t get too caught up in planning because life is what happens when we’re busy making other plans.

­— wroyal@indiana.edu