The 5 Year Plan

Five years ago today, I was scared shitless.

It was my first day living in Los Angeles, and once my cross-country escort (my bud, Loftus), pulled away from the curb, I was alone. Correction: I had the clothes on my back, some in a suitcase, and a car full of all the worldly possessions that I could cram into a Toyota Corolla. I also had an awesome – but completely empty apartment. This felt very alone.

On July 1, 2004, I was sitting on the hard wood floor of what became my living room, bawling.

I had just taken my incredible, fortunate, safe, 24-year-old life, and I had flipped it like I’ve always wanted to do to a table when I’m angry. I left a sweet apartment in Boston, a sweeter boyfriend in Boston, all of my friends, all of my family, and mostly all of what I knew as life – 3,000 miles behind me.

I did it because I somehow knew that I had to. It was “now, or never”, I thought…and it turns out, I was absolutely right.

When I was 20, as a sophomore in College, I was asked (as we all are 100 times in our lives) what my “5 Year Plan” was. To that, my answer was “I hope to live in California at some point”. Period. Period?!? Yep – that was it. I hoped to live in California.

So, at 24, I pointed myself West, and hit "go".

As evidenced by my lack of calendar keeping, I’m not much of a “planner”. And although I felt as if I’d been scheduling this move to California my entire life, five years ago today, I was thinking “I probably should have planned this better.”

And as it turns out, I was absolutely wrong.

If someone had been there with me on the floor of my apartment with a tissue and the question “Where do you see yourself in 5 years NOW?”, I would have replied “I hope to have a bed to sleep on (I did not at the time). I hope I’m not living in a gutter. I hope to be happy and I hope to be healthy.”

If I’d planned that move – and actually thought about what I risked to lose by doing so – I never would have gone. Instead, I chose only to think about what I had to gain – and five years later, here I am: sleeping in a bed (a bed that’s not in a gutter), happy and healthy.

But the road between there and here is paved with things that I couldn't have planned, even if I desperately tried - all of which have made a profound indent on who it is that has become of Me. And granted, "Me" is a hot mess, but boy am I glad I didn't miss out on any of the below by ever setting the limits of my "5 Year Plan"...

I made brand new friends - something that I hadn't taken applications for since my first week of college. One of them ended up being the cheese to my macaroni.

I drove a little red sportscar – experiencing my mid-life crisis early in life. Check.

I watched the sun set over the continental US as often as I could.

I worked really hard for basic needs - skipping several meals along the way.

I went to Vegas on several occasions - and won!

I skied with my parents as an adult.

I got Rufied! – who gets Rufied? I do. That's who.

I met the man of my dreams.

I married the boy from Boston.

I realized that the boy from Boston IS the man of my dreams. Awww.

I ran the LA marathon.

I spent 5 Thanksgivings actually giving thanks.

I got lost in the desert - and found.

I let other people hear me sing.

I was humbled and inspired by the intelligence, experience and talent of other people my age.

I mastered the game of Gin.

I learned to appreciate proximity to an old friend, family, and Dunkin’ Donuts.

I spent a day at Frank Sinatra’s house and breathed his air.

I had sun, 363 days a year.

I did things that I'm not admitting to on the Internet (Hi Mom!)

I “planned” to stay in LA for a year. I left after 4.

I moved to New York.

I learned two cities, drove across the country with all of my belongings twice, adopted an entirely new family, adopted a dog, gained the joy ride that has been this 5 year evolution of Me, and I lost absolutely nothing - except for my favorite toe ring to the Pacific. That, sadly, is gone.

In retrospect, I guess I couldn’t have planned it any better.

So I'm opening the door to this thought: how do we presume ourselves to be so omnipotent that we try to plan the course of something like 5 years? And even if we could, would we want to?

I can't tell you how many times I've gone the wrong way - only to realize that the wrong way pointed me in the right direction.

Knowing that, is what lifted me off the floor on July 1, 2004. I got up, and I ordered myself a bed – and I went from there.

And now, I'm here.

Where are you?