The Life You Didn’t Plan

Living somewhere between the plans we make

and the pathways that open before us

I believe in making plans. I’ve made plenty of them. Plans give us direction. They help us decide what deserves our attention. They turn hopes into calendars and intentions into action. Much of what is good in our lives happens because, at some point, we decided to pursue something and made a plan to get there.

But I’ve noticed something else as well: some of the most significant parts of our lives are things we never planned. Life is made up of both plans and pathways—the plans we make and the pathways that open before us.

Plans matter.

There is something deeply human about imagining a future and moving toward it. We choose careers, relationships, communities, and commitments. We set goals. We picture the person we hope to become and make decisions intended to take us there. There is wisdom in that.

But plans can also get in the way. Instead of giving guidance, they can blind us to opportunities. They can become expectations about how life is supposed to unfold, narrowing our vision as well as our possibilities. By this age, I should be here. If I work hard enough, this should happen. This is what I will be doing ten years from now. All good plans . . . until life intervenes.

A career takes an unexpected turn. An opportunity appears that we weren't looking for. A relationship changes. Something we've worked hard to build comes to an end. We discover an interest we didn't know we had. We accomplish something we wanted very much and are surprised to discover that we don't want it quite as much anymore.

Pathways too

Some changes are welcome. Some are painful. Some may be both. All can become pathways.

A pathway is different from a plan. A plan begins with a destination and asks, “how do I get there?” A pathway sometimes asks us to start walking before we know exactly where it leads. That requires a different kind of wisdom and different questions.

Instead of asking only, how do I accomplish what I planned? We may need to ask: What's happening here? What am I noticing? What is changing—in my circumstances or perhaps in me? What deserves my curiosity?

I’m not suggesting we just drift through life waiting to see what happens. Following a pathway still requires choices, commitments, and sometimes considerable courage. But navigating a pathway requires a different kind of attentiveness. We have to notice differently.

Notice what is changing. Notice what is ending. Notice what continues to give us energy and what no longer does. Notice what we're reluctant to release. Notice an unexpected interest or opportunity we might otherwise dismiss because it wasn't part of the plan.

Lessons from a cat

And sometimes we need to give ourselves permission to wander a little. Some years ago, we shared our house with a cat named Stanley. I say shared because Stanley wasn't particularly interested in being owned. He came and went largely as he pleased, sometimes disappearing long enough to make us wonder whether he intended to return.

Watching Stanley wander one day got me thinking about curiosity. Curiosity goes where it wants, and you do well when you simply follow it. Trying to put a leash on curiosity makes about as much sense as putting a leash on a cat. Not everything worth discovering begins with knowing exactly where you're going.

I have a longer perspective on life now, and looking back, I see both plans and pathways. Some parts of my life resulted from deliberate choices, commitments kept, goals pursued, and years of work. I am grateful for those plans. But other parts could never have appeared in a five-year plan.

Some began as opportunities. Others began as disruptions. Some looked like endings before I could recognize them as beginnings. And occasionally something began simply because I became curious and followed an interesting path for a while to see where it might lead.

Maybe that’s why I still think about Stanley and his feline friends all these years later.

I still make plans. I’m sure I always will. But I'm increasingly interested in developing another capacity: recognizing pathways. What is opening? What is closing? What am I holding onto simply because it was once part of the plan? What am I noticing that I might have overlooked a few years ago? Where is my curiosity taking me?

Life includes both plans and pathways—the plans we make and the pathways we adapt to as they open before us. We need both.

We should make plans. We should pursue them with passion. But maybe we should hold the leash a little loosely. There may be something else worth noticing.

A final thought

Some time ago, I wrote a closing reminder in my daily journal and prayer guide. I still read it every day. It’s often just the perspective I need to keep my bearings when things go off script.

“May I hold my plans for today carefully but also lightly. May I be focused on my commitments and chosen tasks and projects, but not anxious or irritated when interruptions come. May I be aware that those interruptions may be invitations to extend compassion and generous hospitality as Jesus would.”

Thanks for reading.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, questions, or experiences in the comment section below.

--Danny

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