To a mouse

"Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face."

-Mike Tyson

I'm allergic to planning.  Usually when I go on a trip, I don't care to decide ahead of time at which restaurants I will eat, which buses I will take, or even which sights I will see.  I find it infinitely more enjoyable to be enticed by the smell of garlic to a tiny restaurant with better food than I'd ever dreamed of, when I didn't even realize we were near Little Italy, or even the awfulness of a tripe-filled hot-pot I hadn't planned on trying, but had to laugh about for years after.  I've always enjoyed the unpredictability of traveling without an agenda.

Since certain shocks have left a bitter taste in my mouth, I've had a recent attack of pragmatism.  I've tried to wipe away any uncertainty.  I don't want any more surprises. Ever.  So I've begun planning my life, including my trip to New York City last week.  I had every minute of every day planned.  I bought travel books, did research online, and printed off subway maps, itineraries, and necessary tickets for my traveling companions.  There were to be no surprises.

Those "best laid plans" lasted about fifteen minutes into the trip.  Our flight was delayed 3½ hours due to the kind of thunderstorm that only March in the Midwest can produce.  We missed our second flight but all in all it was a minor speed-bump.  I've done enough traveling in situations where delays are the norm rather than the exception, to let that faze me.  We adjusted our schedule and got ready to go to Broadway.  The carefully planned schedule grew hazier with each passing hour.  Rather than being delighted with each new scene, I was frantically trying to figure out how to get us back on schedule, back to the place we were supposed to have been.  I didn't enjoy anything when I had mapped out exactly what the day should look like and it didn't resemble my dreams at all.

It became apparent to me that this was no way to travel around day 3 of New York City.  We arrived in Central Park with three specific goals.  The first was the literary walk section of the Mall, the oldest and prettiest pathway through the city's enormous haven lined with statues and quotes from literary masters.  Upon approaching the beautiful literary walk, we were halted by large white vans, bright lights, and two scrawny guys standing in the middle of the walkway.

     "Excuse me, but we're filming right now, so we have to ask that you turn around."

Normally, this would have delighted me.  I would have asked countless questions and been immensely interested in the TV show being made right before our eyes.  Instead, I was frustrated that I wasn't going to see one of the things I'd researched and looked forward to.  I considered my options:  if I ignored the guys and walked right past, I was pretty sure I could out-muscle either one in a scrap.  I was also pretty sure my sister and roommate wouldn't want to explain to the police why I had gotten in a fight in the park.

We turned around dejectedly and searched for Strawberry Fields.  At least we would be able to pay our respects to John Lennon.  Strawberry Fields wasn't hard to find, since there was a crowd gathered around the mosaic where a man in a Hawaiian shirt with too few brain cells was explaining his carefully crafted shrine of flowers, an apple, a hand-sewn strawberry, a walrus, and a variety of other chintzy knickknacks.  He had made an intricate peace sign over the "imagine" mosaic with roses, and was telling stories about the late Beatle that grew less believable with each breath he took.

This was an interesting fellow—a fascinating specimen of humanity I should have been entertained by.  Instead, I was fuming that he was ruining yet another of my plans:  a picture with the artwork.

In an even worse mood than before, I turned towards my last hope for Central Park:  the Great Lawn.  When we approached the beautiful lawn upon which so many artists had performed concerts, so many New Yorkers had lounged in the sunshine, I was looking forward to settling down for half an hour with one of my newly-purchased books and feeling the bliss of soft green grass.  Instead, a fence encircled the entire lawn with a warning sign that the grass was freshly planted and couldn't be walked on for a few more weeks.

It was after I left the park in a foul mood that I realized none of this would have upset me if I hadn't built up expectations in my mind.  The way I normally live, I just let things drift to me and enjoy them as they come.  

There's a certain poetry in finding life to be a pleasant surprise rather than a disruptive deviation from your careful plans.

Certain areas of our lives must be planned.  Without goals and dreams, we would wander aimlessly and accomplish little.  That does not mean that I should hold rigidly to those plans as though they are the only possible way to enjoy life.  An unexpected turn of events can bring with it joys I'd never dreamed of, even if it completely ruins the careful map I'd drawn.  Thank you, New York, for reminding me to be flexible.  Just because I didn't get the job I thought was the only possible avenue to happiness doesn't mean an equally wonderful opportunity isn't out there waiting to be discovered.