Planning the Unpredictable
As my move out of Alaska gets closer, I find myself increasingly reflective.
There is something to the saying that life is what happens while we’re making plans. Nineteen years ago, I finally gave in to my husband’s persistent suggestion that we go “look” at Alaska. We stepped off the plane, fell in love with it, and moved here three months later.
I could never have predicted where that decision would lead. I knew I wanted a career in academic family medicine. I did not know what that career would look like, whom I would meet along the way, or that nearly 20 years later I would be leaving Alaska for Washington, of all places, to help start a rural family medicine residency. (More on that next week.)
It is humbling to look back at the distance between what I planned and what actually unfolded.
Both things are true: We need a vision for where we want to go, and we need to make plans that move us in that direction. We also need enough openness to recognize that life may take us there by a route we never would have chosen, or toward something we hadn’t yet imagined.
Once both of our grown children had life circumstances that took them out of Alaska, Mark and I decided we would move when he retired.
We knew we wanted to stay in the Pacific Northwest. (I’m sold. I can never leave.) Beyond that, however, the possibilities were wide open.
Over the years, we made pros-and-cons lists, dreamed, debated, researched towns, looked at houses online, and talked with anyone who might offer another useful perspective. We considered everywhere from the Oregon coast to Priest Lake, Idaho, and plenty of places in between.
Then our grandchildren, um, I mean our daughter and her family, landed in Wenatchee. Our oldest was in Atlanta, well outside our Pacific Northwest boundary, which made it fairly clear which family we could realistically live near.
Even then, we were all over the place. When we visited them, we explored neighboring towns and drove through the hills and open country outside Wenatchee. We checked out Spokane, which was quite promising. We could imagine ourselves in several versions of the future.
It became clear, though, that we weren’t on quite the same page. When we visited those vast open spaces, with no one around and the nearest store several miles away, I was not sold. And when we looked at some cute little complexes with low-maintenance yards in a busy neighborhood, my husband wasn’t on board.
Eventually, we realized we were trying to choose a place before we had fully decided what we wanted from this next stage of life. Who did we want to be? What mattered most? What did we want our ordinary days to look like?
We wanted freedom to travel, proximity to family, ease of getting out in nature, and a home in the Pacific Northwest. We also recognized that one property did not have to fulfill every dream immediately. We could approach it in stages: first, a home in a walkable, friendly neighborhood; later, land for my husband’s larger plans.
But the real clarity came when we thought about family. We had both grown up with at least one set of grandparents nearby. Now we had the opportunity to be those grandparents.
If it could be us, why wouldn’t we be?
That was when Wenatchee stopped being our central point of measurement and became our targeted destination. Our daughter was so thrilled she nearly cried.
We found a home with sidewalks, a neighborhood that has embraced us before we’ve even moved in permanently, and, best of all, a location within walking distance of our daughter, son-in-law, and grandlittles.
Life’s unexpected turns brought Wenatchee onto our map. Getting clear, and getting on the same page about our next chapter, helped us choose.
Reflection:
1. In what situation are you trying to make plans before getting clear about what you actually want?
2. What are you clear you want in your next chapter, even if you cannot yet see the route that will take you there?
3. Where might holding too tightly to your current plan keep you from recognizing an unexpected path worth considering?
Responses