“It’s not the plan,” former President Dwight D. Eisenhower is supposed to have said, “it’s the planning.” I guess that means that the details of a certain plan matter a lot less than simply having one in the first place. Ike must have known what he was talking about, of course — who am I to gainsay the architect of the Allied victory in World War II?
The problem, for me, is that I have lots of plans. I painstakingly work out what I’m going to do on free weekday mornings. I have highly specific charts of errands, work projects, phases to complete in writing assignments, and even how to sort laundry I need to take to the cleaners and stuff I can just throw in on cold, heavy-duty, max spin.
Or, for instance, what I’m faced with right now, which is a detailed packing list for a monthlong trip I’m taking tomorrow, laid out on the floor in neat little piles that reflect the requirements of my trip: I’m going to be gone for 32 days; the weather will be mostly warm with occasional rain; I don’t have any formal events to attend; I will need a bathing suit; it’s unclear if I’ll have laundry service.
And then there’s a tangle of cords and chargers: I need to charge the battery for my camera, which is a wall-socket contraption, so I need two adapters for that; I need to charge my phone, iPad, and watch — two adapters for those as well; and I need to bring connecting cables for all of those items plus the microphone I’m bringing to record a few episodes of my podcast.
All of these things are going to be coiled, clipped, and stacked before I stuff them into my carry-on, along with some pens and a notebook. I’ve already portioned out my various medications and supplements, and those are in a separate cloth zippered bag.
It’s not the plan, it’s the planning. I’m great at planning.
The plan is I will stack, restack, and double-check the items tonight before I go to bed. Tomorrow morning, before my 10 a.m. car to the airport, I’ll place all of the items into the at-the-ready suitcase and carry-on. By the time the car arrives, I’ll be waiting by the curb in a state of readied relaxation.
That, as I said, is the plan. But, if past events are any guide, here’s what’s actually going to happen: I will begin to put things into the suitcase and realize that maybe I do need to bring a blazer, just in case I am invited somewhere important by a person I haven’t met yet. This means I’ll need a pair of nice trousers, a dress shirt, and probably some extra shoes. There’s a chance I’ll have to go hiking — I hate the idea of that, but there’s always the risk when you travel that someone will suggest walking to the top of the small mountain to see the monastery (or whatever), and no one wants to be the guy who says, I brought the wrong shoes. Can’t we hire a local urchin to carry us up there?
So now I need to get the boots and the blazer and the nice shoes and shirt, and probably toss in a necktie, too — oh, and since we’re rethinking things, maybe I also need to bring a pair of shorts, and three more polo shirts because the weather looks hot — too hot, frankly, for a rain coat, so I’ll replace the raincoat with a very light poncho and my travel umbrella. Plus, I need to put the sunscreen and the hat in the suitcase, and I forgot to lay those out.
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By this point, the car is already outside, the clock is ticking, and the get-to-the-airport-early goal is slipping away. I barely have time to switch suitcases — I need to use the bigger one now — cram all of the chargers and adapters into the carry-on with my iPad and notebook (they don’t all fit), and use a small canvas tote as my spill-over conveyance.
This isn’t the plan, of course — and it certainly isn’t the product of the planning — but it is, probably, what’s going to happen twenty-four hours from this very moment. Ike’s saying should have been, “It’s not the plan, or the planning. It’s the planner.”
Rob Long is a television writer and producer, including as a screenwriter and executive producer on Cheers, and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.