Today I received an email from the education department at my school. “Since you’re graduating in December,” the email read, “Could you fill out this form about your future plans?” The weight of that simple question hit me in the gut. Such an innocuous question, but one that I’m largely unable to answer. Future plans? I plan on getting ice cream a lot and traveling as much as possible and falling madly in love. I plan on getting into politics and being a leader in Adventist education and teaching my kids how to make snow cream.
My plans go on and on, a never-ending inventory, and that terrifies me. The list of things I want to accomplish in this short life cannot be condensed to a cute little blurb to make my department look good. My future plans are wild and whimsical and winding. My heart is full of questions and I plan on living a life that answers all of them.
This abstract nature of my plans stresses me out. I do not know where I’ll be in three months. My world is one giant, unknown oyster and I absolutely hate sea food. Future plans? I hardly know what I’m doing tomorrow. I can talk all day about my lofty goals but when it comes to the nitty gritty day to day plans, I’m lost. Future plans, sure I got them, but I’m at a loss with the current plans.
Once again, I am too much and not enough all at once. I have plans, lots of them, but somehow, I can’t seem to formulate a sentence to accurately describe them. The not knowing is the worst. I’d love to confidently report back to my department with a solid plan for the future, but I can’t. I landed on a vague if not eloquent statement about following God’s call as an Adventist educator but even that seemed half-hearted.
Future plans? Try not to be a horrible person, learn a lot, eat some really good food, and walk with God. And anything else is just gravy.