… Just need to choose a font.” ~Chuck Bartowski

Do you ever feel like the minutiae get in the way of living?  I’m a list maker.  I make lists of lists.  I used to have a book of lists.  Seriously.  But I wonder if I spend so much time making lists that I never actually find the time to get around to doing the things on the list.

Albeit my book of lists for moving was pretty epic; well, as epic as lists can get, anyway.  It kept everything together; I was actually pretty proud of it.  I color-coded the rooms using Post-It Notes and fancy duct tape.  (They actually have duct tape with bacon on it.  How perfect is that for a kitchen???)  I wrote the contents of the box on a color-coded, numbered list as the box was packed. Then I wrote the box number on the appropriate color of Post-It and taped it to the box thus cross-referencing the box number with the list of contents.  As someone who has moved more than 30 times, I know the art of the move.

WOW!  I’m easily distrac….SQUIRREL!!!

Back to the life plan.  I’m really not sure what’s next.  I’m about to turn 46.  Which means I’m closer to 50 than 40.  Fifty?  How can that be possible?  I haven’t accomplished half of what I’ve wanted to.  I haven’t even written a bucket list yet.  I’m running out of time and I have procrastinated close to half of my adult life away.  Well, shit.

Some things that I had considered doing when I was younger just seem unrealistic now.  Like how am I supposed to be independently wealthy by the time I’m 30?  Or, move to New York City and work for one of the Big Eight accounting firms as a Certified Internal Auditor when there are now only four…and I didn’t actually get my CPA/CIA or an accounting degree?  How am I going to be have my own HGTV show when it takes me three days to mud and tape a room and I do my best demo work to Led Zeppelin?  🙂

It’s not that I’m completely dissatisfied with life, I work as an underwriter.  I love my job and the people with whom I work, so I can’t complain.  But is it what I thought I would be doing?  No.  Do I see myself doing it forever? No.  Do I feel like it was my calling?  No.  Am I fulfilled?  Meh.  What do I really want to do when I grow up?  Uuuhh.  I’ve always envied those people who knew exactly what they wanted to do and what they needed to do to get there.  What’s that like?  I’ve relied heavily on a Magic 8-ball for years to help with serious life decisions.  (I used to have the actual toy, now I have an app on my phone.)

Me: Should I continue dating Rico Not-S0-Suave, the food spitter and nose picker?

Magic 8-ball:  Outlook good.

Me: Really?  Are you sure?

Magic 8-ball:  As I see it, yes.

Me:  Is there anyone else out there for me?

Magic 8-ball:  Very doubtful.

Alrighty then.  Good deal.  Life decision made.  🙂

If I dislike the answers, I like to give the 8-ball some baseline questions that I already know the answer to; you know, to make sure it’s telling the truth.  Will I ever be a super model?  Am I finally going to grow taller?  Am I going to have Dwayne Johnson’s baby?  Am I going to lose 30 pounds in 30 days on this new super fabulous, guaranteed weight-loss infomercial system where I don’t have to exercise ever and can keep eating bacon with every meal?  If the answer is yes to any of the above, I know the 8-ball is feeling jocular but not truthful, and therefore any answers should be treated as suspect.

The biggest problem with life planning a la Magic 8-ball is that it doesn’t give answers to questions like, what are the winning lottery numbers?  What is Zachary Levi’s phone number?  What is the point of linear algebra?  What should I be when I grow up?  What is my five-year plan?

Once upon a time I took a professional career coaching course which entailed a lot of testing to determine my perfect vocation, based upon my personality, interests, education, and random, testable skills like visual acuity and manual dexterity.  It concluded that I should be a politician; a comedian, or a teacher.  I’m not sure what any of those have to do with one another, or with me, for that matter.  I have way too many skeletons in my closet to ever consider politics, I can’t do funny on queue though I do love to laugh, and whereas teachers are a highly under-appreciated/underpaid commodity, I’ve no desire to be one.

Writing makes me happy.  I enjoy trying to express my thoughts with words in a manner I think someone else can appreciate.  But with the advent of blogs, everyone with an opinion writes.

Photography makes me happy.  I’ve taken thousands of photographs.  Some of them are quite good.  It used to be an art form but now anyone with an iPhone and Instagram can publish their pictures.

Both are great venues, don’t get me wrong.  But the bar has been raised on the level of talent one has to possess in order to get published or otherwise gain professional credibility.  Is it a confidence thing?  Does self-assurance allow people to pursue dreams unfettered by the fear of failure?  I get a quote a day, and there are a plethora about facing fears, doing it anyway, succeeding in spite of failure, blah, blah, blah.  I guess if it was really that easy, there wouldn’t be so many quotes encouraging people to do whatever it is they fear most.

Which is worse?  The fear of failure or the fear of success?  I think they are equally debilitating.  They are opposite ends of the same spectrum.  Either way fear prevents momentum toward the end goal.  If I don’t try, I don’t risk failure or the pressure of success.  If I try and fail, I failed and I am a failure.  If I try and succeed, holy shit…now what?  Maybe that’s the real question.  What do you do if you succeed?  What then?  No one talks about life after success.  I guess it isn’t newsworthy.

Look at the news or even YouTube, for that matter.  Videos of cheer champions or dance champions cannot compete with videos of people biffing it or getting schmucked in the gnads.  Videos of epic fails are insanely popular.  They make people laugh.  Failure is comedy gold.  It makes everyone feel better about their own lives to see someone else’s mistakes used as fodder for entertainment.  Success just isn’t funny or universally appealing, especially when it is happening to someone else.  I’m not sure what that says about us as a society.

So, I guess the five-year plan, will have to wait a bit longer because my Magic 8-ball isn’t telling me what font to use and my life compass appears to be pointing NNE, which leads me directly to a dumpster in the middle of Status Quoville.