I have been contemplating my summer plans, and though I debate with myself constantly about the pros and cons of “planning” vs. “winging it”, I am by nature a planner. I can’t help myself. I try to be spontaneous, but there is always a running list in my head of what I should or could or might at least try to do next. Unfortunately this gives me a sense of urgency, and sometimes anxiety, which is not always healthy. I sometimes ask myself why I try to do so much. Probably some deep-seated need I could blame on my parents if I so desired. But I suspect I was born with the need to achieve.
I worked in the garden a bit yesterday, not because I had intended to do so, but because Gary brought home nine plants from the clearance racks. There was a time in the not so distant past when I would have felt compelled to put them all into the ground and check off that task as “done”. However, I didn’t feel like doing that yesterday. I had other things I wanted to accomplish. So I planted three of the little beauties and then left the others to rest on the patio until I choose to plant them. While I was digging holes I noticed a rather shameful section of weeds that needed clearing so I got out my hoe and cleaned an area about two feet by four feet. When I looked down I thought, “Well at least that made a difference.”
I have been running that phrase through my brain ever since.
And I have decided that I will plan for the summer.
I will plan to “make a difference” each day.
I’m not sure what that difference might be, but the idea suits the temperament of my increasing age and changing habits. I might not have the time or energy or even the will to do everything I need to do each day- in the garden or the house or here at the computer where I do my writing and research. But I can certainly do something. I can make progress. I can make a difference. Sounds like a plan to me…
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