Planning the unexpected
If things eventually go tits-up, people will invariably come to you for answers
It’s late. My eyes are red from fear and concentration. The only light in the room comes from my desk lamp as I burn the midnight oil, stooped over my desk. The floor around me is littered with scrumpled wads of paper. Discarded ideas. Each one would have worked, they would have worked fine. But fine isn’t good enough – this has to be perfect. My girlfriend’s birthday is coming up and everything must go just right.
I’ve been at this for fourteen hours now. Maybe the alternative, to close my eyes tight and hope everything works out alright is also an option. Perhaps the best way is to be found in a happy compromise, as a famous soldier of fortune often declared, “I love it when a plan comes together.” But I find it hard to agree with Mr Hannibal; by combining spontaneity with precision of forethought, I fear we risk losing the best parts of these different strategies.
For example, the first method of meticulous planning is, admittedly, a lot of work. The best strategists lose countless nights of sleep as they toss and turn worrying over the smallest details. However, this effort and anxiety is rewarded when it comes off without a hitch. The moment when everything comes to fruition in perfect harmony can only be compared to watching all the gears, cogs and sprockets of a most marvelous watch click into place for the first time. It’s beautiful.
This euphoria is lost when you sit back and let things unfold around you. However, this method lacks the agonising hours of hard work and worry – a decidedly stress-free experience. That in itself is a plus. Consequently, though it is not guaranteed, there is a small but real chance that, without external interference, everything will come together. If a perfect plan realised is like a watch in perfect metre, then when things simply work is like watching as a million parts are thrown together at random – yet produces a watch that reads the exact time. Certainly unexpected but not unwelcome.
A problem with the planned approach is that it offers us the illusion of control
A problem with the planned approach is that it offers us the illusion of control. The majority of motorway accidents occur during the day, when people think they are in control. At night, when people are less sure, things are generally safer. It is a delusion to think that, as long as we control enough of the variables, we can control the outcome. To a large extent this is true, so long as we’re not working with atoms. Or anything made of atoms. We may have a slight problem.
Conversely, the issue with the hands-off approach is not one of control but responsibility. You can’t sit back and let things happen by themselves if you weren’t in a position to control things to begin with. You are still responsible for the consequences. If things eventually go tits-up (which there is a strong probability for them to do), people will invariably come to you for answers. In this scenario, it is wise to either have a) a good explanation or b) a better escape plan. If you only ever plan one thing, make sure it’s this one – always have a get-out clause.
Maybe I will just let things unfold...just so long as they do so at the French restaurant on the corner between 7pm and five-past with flowers in hand.
Ah, I love it when a date comes together.
