Here's the Plan...

One year, when I was about 18, my mom bought me a book for Christmas. It was written by a local author who was doing a book signing at Hudson's quaint little Main Street bookstore, so my mom bought it (partly because she's all about supporting local business and partly because she thought it might be an appropriate book for me). The book was titled "Live in the Moment." It was all about embracing the "now" in your life, taking in the small pleasures and making the most of what's in front of you at that very moment. When I received it, I was pleasantly surprised and I read it pretty quickly, picking up a few pointers here and there, but I didn't really comprehend why my mom gifted me that book. Eight years later, its starting to sink in.

I am a serious plan-a-holic. I've blogged about this minor glitch in my otherwise flawless personality before, but it warrants more discussion because I'm learning that it takes quite a while to 1) come to grips with something like this and 2) do something about it, for Pete's sake!

My plan-a-holic syndrome is compounded by my other ailment--"grass-is-greener" syndrome. For those of you who may not have experienced this on a daily basis, its where no matter what decision you make in life, you spend the next eternity thinking maybe you should have made a different decision.

So mostly, my life goes something like this:
1. Start thinking that some area of my life needs a change/improvement/etc.
2. Google like mad to research possible options and avenues to create that change.
3. Obsessively think about the options and weigh pros/cons in my head until it nears self-combustion.
4. Irritate Tom by attempting to discuss options at any given opportunity, but mostly when he's tired and just wants to watch sports.
5. Make a decision. No, change my mind. Make another decision. Change my mind again. Because I certainly wouldn't want to make the wrong decision and regret it.
6. Make a final decision.
7. Notice that things aren't quite how I pictured them, so decide to begin again at Step 1.

Its exhausting, I tell you.

I've come to realize lately that having sweet little surprise Libby was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. When Tom and I discuss a future child/children, my plan-a-holic/grass-is-greener syndrome kicks into overdrive and I start to go crazy--"What is the ideal spacing between children? When do I want to return to a career? At what time of year am I most willing to abstain from wine? Do I really want to add another person to this cool thing we've got going here?" So then I say, "Forget it!" and start thinking maybe Libby will just be an only child who follows Tom and I around the world on exotic adventures. So, see? This is why Libby was a surprise. God knew I could never get my shit together enough to plan her, so he just said, "Here ya go, lady."

And don't get me started on living arrangements. Its a good thing we got rid of cable because every time I watched an episode of House Hunters, I was pretty confident I wanted to move to the featured city. Bismarck, North Dakota? Yes! I will go there! (Of course, pretty much any city looks good when you live in the most miserable city in the U.S.). I agonized over moving back to Ohio, and while (don't get me wrong) I am still confident that we made the right choice, I cannot help but wonder "Where shall we go next?!" as if moving from state to state was akin to sampling vintages at a wine tasting.

Am I happy with my life? Absolutely, 100% yes. But I am cursed with a head and heart that both speak very loudly. I am both a dreamer and an analyst. And if I've learned one thing in the past eight years, its that my mom was spot-on at Christmas 2008. I need to re-read that book.