If nothing else, I am a planner. That statement is intended to be neither a boast nor a condemnation, but an honest assessment of my tendencies. At work, I occupy a position that requires me, in my way of thinking, to have plans for things I would like to see occur today, tomorrow, next week, this year, and on into infinity. Recently, I even caught myself planning to make a plan.
There is nothing inherently wrong with this approach to life and work, but some questions must be asked and answered:
- Am I spending too much time planning and too little time doing?
- What happens when unexpected events alter the well-considered plan?
The second question is the one I want to contemplate here. Events at work this week have conspired to sabotage my careful plan. The upcoming and very much unexpected departure of a key player in my department will necessitate changes and uncertainty in the short and moderate time frames. We are not in danger of crumbling, but many things must be reconsidered and adjustments made accordingly.
The situation at work brought back to the front of my mind some things I had been thinking about recently in relation to planning our homestead. We have definite goals in mind: in our retirement years, to live in an offgrid homestead where we produce much of the food we consume, obtain water from the resources on our property, gather fuel for our woodstove from our wooded land, and meet our limited electrical needs through solar power.
Pretty easy, huh? After all, we do all of those things to some degree in our current home. But, no, not easy for me.
We have been talking and planning and dreaming of our homestead for many years, and have finally begun taking observable steps in that direction in the past year or two. At times, I have been overwhelmed with questions and problems I could not seem to resolve. What will our source of water be, and how will we get water from there to here? How much electrical power do we require, and how will we keep our freezer containing our carefully preserved food running during extended cloudy or rainy periods? What is the best way to cut and split our firewood and transport it from the woods to the woodstove? We won't be young people, you know. Will toenailed 6D nails be sufficient to securely attach our cabin's floor joists to the beams? And, speaking of the cabin, should we construct a gable or gambrel roof?
It occurred to me in the past few days that, almost without fail, when I have become overwhelmed with these questions and doubts, it has been the result of a mental departure from our stated mission. We said we wanted to live as simply and as self-sufficiently as possible, divorced as much as is feasible from relying on others for our basic needs. The more complicated or sophisticated a plan, in my experience, the more likely it is to fail. The more parts there are, the more possibilities of something going awry. Why, then, am I worrying about trying to live in the same manner we have always lived? When I think about it in those terms, it just doesn't really make much sense.
I commit, henceforth, to develop my plans using the KISS principle. Keep It Simple Stupid.
Signed,
The Planner