Till I gain control again

There are so many proverbs and phrases and such about plans and making plans. "life is what happens when we are busy making plans", "if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans", "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry" and on and on and on.

For those of us that are inherently planners there is great shock when in fact all the planning in the world cannot prepare you for life's curveballs.

When the biggest of them came for me I went on autopilot.

Personally, I thought I could plan and checklist my way through the process of grieving until I woke up one morning and it would all be over.

All the boxes would be checked and I'd be out the other side. Funerals, anniversaries, lawyers, therapy, finances check, check, check.

Neat little lists, busy little bee making plans and getting things done and going to work, and feeding the cat and coloring the grays, and, and, and.

Until I couldn't.

I could not add one more thing to the list. I could not stand to look at the lists.

I'm not comfortable in situations I cannot control. Some people like giving up control. I suppose there is a great freedom to that.

The process of grieving, and for me I really did make it a process, was not so much about the "steps of grief"- in my mind a bunch of horseshit used to sell books.

My process was what steps do I have to take each and every day to keep this train on the tracks. How do I avoid being out of control. I've lost control in the biggest way I could have ever imagined, and now how do I regain it. How do I keep myself off the cliff, out of the vortex, off of the floor?

So here I was thinking I had beaten back the big bad wolf of grief, and planned my way out of it. My lists and busy work were my salvation, or so I thought.

I thought I was in control.

Until one day at work, the place I had always been acutely in control, it became obvious I wasn't. And it was made clear that I hadn't been for a while except I had no idea.

It was one of the hardest days after he died. The day I realized I could no longer do the job I had fought for and loved and prided myself on.

It was the next biggest self-identifier after wife, Art Director. It said I am creative and I am in charge, don't fuck with me I know what I am doing.

It too was now going to be gone.

It was after this realization that I considered throwing my plans to the wind and letting myself be out of control. Letting a different part of myself guide the next part of my life.

Reflecting back now on how this Option B plan began to form about one year ago, I believe it was my "come to Jesus" moment. When I realized that my best laid plans were not getting me anywhere closer to healed. And they might in fact be getting in the way of my getting healed.

The script flipped and from then on it was full steam ahead with Plan B- get the hell out of dodge and do not pass go, do not collect $200, do not even wait around for the ink on the sale of your house to dry.

I'm not sure these months in whether I would make all the same decisions now I made then, I'm not sure any of them was right or wrong or necessary. I just know I appealed to a different part of myself- one that I rarely indulged in my adult life. A bit like that Seinfeld episode where George decides that all of his instincts are wrong and he sets about doing the complete opposite of what he would normally do and everything turns up roses for him.

I wasn't expecting roses, but I was expecting to feel differently.

I was hoping by making decisions I wouldn't normally make, I would learn something new about myself. About areas of strength and weaknesses I hadn't identified.

If I were writing a book about my steps in the grieving process it would look like this so far;

Be sad, angry and in shock

Make plans and lists and live in denial

Scrap plans and lists but maybe still be in denial

Wait with anticipation to see what comes next