One morning, after I had come in from the school run so frazzled that I wanted to curl up in a ball under the dining room table and cry, I stood in the middle of the den and said, “Alexa, help me meditate.” The Amazon Echo opened a Headspace meditation app, and for the next 15 minutes, I sat on the edge of this nasty loveseat and breathed.
When the programmed meditation was complete, the super chill male British-accented guide said:
“When you’re ready, slowly open your eyes.”
I did.
And the den was still trashed, the sofa still sticky, and the dogs still staring at me from their beds.
I felt better, more at home in my body, but the man’s words lingered in my now still brain. When was the last time I did something because I was ready?
Most of my life happens according to other people’s needs and schedules.
I get out of bed because the alarm goes off, not because I’m ready. Even on weekends when I get to sleep in, I eventually get out of bed to check the kids, not because I’m ready. I go to work when I’m supposed to go to work and I come home when it’s time to cook dinner and I go to bed when my Fitbit buzzes and tells me that it’s time to start winding down. I walk when the dogs want to walk and I buy groceries when we are out of milk. I eat lunch when it’s lunchtime. I answer emails because my computer goes DING. I stop wearing white sandals because it’s after Labor Day. I write checks to pay bills when the date in the box draws near. I sweep the leaves when they gather on the deck. I wipe up chocolate milk that someone else spilled on the floor because I don’t even drink chocolate milk anymore.
I used to love chocolate milk. But I gave up chocolate milk along with so many other things–not because I was READY to but because I grew up…right?
Ready?
I started thinking back over the major milestones in my adult life–hell, even in my adolescence. All of the big things happened TO ME, not because I had planned and was ready for them.
I’ve never been much of a map maker. I just wait to see what happens then roll with the punches, come what may, que sera sera, yadda yadda. I can plan the hell out of a trip to the grocery store (once we’re out of milk that other people drink), but I’ve never been one for planning out my life. Why bother, when life doesn’t give 2 shits for the plan and grownups have to deal with whatever comes when it comes anyway? (Note to self: this could explain that overwhelming anxiety?)
I remember one time in the last week of senior year in college, when we were making a recruiting film for Wesleyan. A few of us were sitting on the steps of the president’s home, enjoying the view from our pinnacle as almost graduates. The interviewer asked, “What’s next in your plan? Where do you see youself in 5 years? 10 years? I felt a panic as each of my classmates answered and my turn to look into the camera and talk about my life plan got closer and closer. Ummm…hell if I know? That’s not exactly recruitment gold. I said something about going to graduate school at Auburn and then….um….getting my PhD….yeah, that’s the ticket…..and then I guess I’ll be a professor because that’s what people with PhDs do, right? I polished it up and prattled it off for the camera and then I went off into my future and nothing worked out that way. The academic job market didn’t really have any openings for my plan, so I rolled with it.
I didn’t join the corporate world because I was READY. I did it because I was an adult and needed a job and I did the math and taking that job at that time worked. So ready or not…here’s where I ended up.

My life plan.
I turn 50 next week. I’m ready…I think. (Not that it matters whether I am or not)
What I’ve learned about life in 50 years is a lot like what I experienced in that meditation exercise: the illusion of control and busyness is what makes me feel disconnected from my own life. The very idea of a plan is craziness itself. Peace happens when I sit still and breathe. As Thich nat Hahn says, “Breathing in, I calm myself. Breathing out, I smile.” He does not mention a 5-year plan. I’ve been holding those words in my mind for weeks now. “When you’re ready, slowly open your eyes.”
The “ready” isn’t about being ready to control my life. It’s being ready to relinquish the illusion of control.
For my birthday, I’m treating myself to a trip to Egypt. I’ve had 10 months to get ready. I planned to lose 30 pounds so I didn’t hurt the camel I want to ride. I planned to get the kids on chore charts and teach everyone to cook a few meals so they could avoid malnutrition while I’m gone. I planned to learn some basic Arabic phrases. I planned to master my fancy camera. I planned to pack only a carryon for 2 weeks. I planned to read several books by Egyptian writers of the 20th century. I planned to learn the political history of what has formed modern Egypt and I planned to learn the names of all the gods and goddesses. I planned to be so far ahead at work that no one would notice I’m gone.
None of that happened.
Nevertheless, I’m going. And all will be fine, thanks to chicken nuggets, automatic camera settings, and Google translate. I’ll learn the history while I’m there. I’ll read the Egyptian novels when I get back and I’ll catch up on work then too. I can even pick out an extra sturdy camel and still go for a little ride.
I did manage to learn “shukran,” which is how to say “thank you” in Arabic.
I guess all this is to say, nothing is going as planned, but I’m READY.

Girl, come on. We got you.