The great No Plan plan
First off, my deepest apologies to the three and a half people (including my dad) who truly missed my blog posts. And average apologies to the rest who missed my blog posts just because they had nothing better to do than be bemused by adolescent jargon. (I should seriously reconsider thinking of myself as an adolescent.)
So I was missing in action and the simple honest-to-god reason is this – I had nothing of interest to say. Not like my previous entries have sparked off intellectual, life-altering debates, but I have been bereft of thought for a while now and I didn’t want to force myself to spew rubbish on unsuspecting readers (which I usually do).
Being devoid of thoughts would worry any sane person, except perhaps Shashi Tharoor who clearly wasn’t thinking when he hooked up with Unidentified Dyeing Object.
But this time, I’m not worried. Being thoughtless – and I don’t mean in the Maria Susairaj-I’ll-just-hack-my-boyfriend-to-death way – has been just about the best thing to happen to me.
Just before writing this blog, a colleague of mine told me that while watching a movie, she didn’t know what was going on at some point, because she was so consumed by her thoughts, that she didn’t register the previous three scenes.
I remembered times I used to forget what I had to do while walking from my bedroom to my hall, thanks to my hyperactive brain. But lately I have consciously and subconsciously avoided thinking too much…or for that matter, at all.
I’ve realised that over-thinking sucks out the sheer spontaneity of getting by each day. (Refer to one of my previous entries on a million thoughts per second). As if we didn’t have enough to contend with in life, putting up with the likes of the IPL, USA and Vivek Oberoi.
Over-thinking is directly proportionate to plan-making. I’ve never been a planning sort of person. Things have mostly just fallen into place without my help.
But at this point in my life, I really, really have NO plan. Which, I think, is giving my parents secret panic attacks. Especially as I have decided to quit my job.
The standard response to this little piece of news has been, “oh so what’s your plan now?” and my standard response to that has been, “I don’t have one” and the standard response to that is either a disapproving look from the 40 plus, a pitying, what-was-she-thinking look from the ambitious corporate types, and a “**** awesome!” hi-five from the lazy bums within my age group.
And I experience this indescribably sweet lightness of being whenever I say “I don’t have a plan”.
I really don’t. It’s the truth. After I serve out my decade long notice period, I don’t have an agenda. I don’t have a job-in-waiting. I don’t have an itinerary. I don’t have a mission. I got nothing. And it’s the most liberating, float-in-the-air, dance-on-my-tip-toes, stuff-my-face-with-candyfloss feeling in the world.
But let’s be real honest about this. I can afford, literally, not to have a plan. I’m an Indian girl living with my parents, who for some inexplicable reason love their inactive-brained, non-planning and soon-to-be-unemployed daughter enough to finance her idiotic whims and fancies.
I’m 25, no strings attached. This is my deadline for doing whatever the hell I want to and getting away with it. A few years down the line, I won’t have that luxury. So I’m making the most of it. By not thinking. By not planning. By not caring.
I subscribe to that odd school of thought that says life will play out as it will. You can make a million plans and succeed at most of them, but you never know when your office might be raided and you may be asked to quit as chairman of the IPL.
You may plan an amazing Europe trip down to the very last detail, but you never know when an unpronounceable natural disaster decides to throw up somewhere in Iceland. You may plan to marry the love of you life, but you never know how many women he may have telephonically wedded.
And you may plan to quit your mostly amazing, basic-income generating, and supremely rewarding job, but you never know you might just be happier.