I can't decide.
For the past few days I've been working on my goals and resolutions for the new year. I may be the only person left on the planet who finds this exercise fruitful. Last year, I concocted an 18-month plan, which is well on its way to completion. There are a few spectacular hold-outs in the completion department, but mostly I did pretty well.
So, out came the colored pencils and the calendar and my journal and... all my planning toys. I've figured out (sort of) the categories in my life. I know -in broad strokes- where I would like to be in each of those categories in five years. It's easy enough to work backwards and get to a one year plan, and backwards still further to a 90-day plan. Of course, I could come up with an hour-by-hour plan, but my obsessive-compulsive nature doesn't extend that far, you'll be glad to know.
But as I put papers into folders last night, I started to worry. Life's what happens when you're making other plans, and all that. By getting so precise with my goals and plans am I just begging the gods to throw back a few beers and have a good old laugh at my expense while they completely screw with me? Or... are there worse things than tempting fate? Tempting sorrow, perhaps. Or tempting disappointment that I never got around to pursuing some goal or another?
And of course, there's the ever-present possibility that the planning itself becomes the project. One must, eventually, put the colored pencils aside and start working the plan -which I mostly think is fun, too (unless the goal says something like "confront the fact that you are living in a messy house and FIX THAT." Housework. Blech.)
Balance....balance... where's the balance point? I have such trouble with that concept!