Lost

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where -" said Alice.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"-so long as I get somewhere,"  Alice added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if only you walk long enough."

Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

I first used this quote in a presentation at University.  Alice's presence wasn't often felt at our Industrial Marketing lectures and I recall receiving a small amount of kudos for including her on this occasion, which I accepted, but did not entirely deserve.  The truth was I'd seen the quote used in an article I'd read whilst researching the topic, and for whilst the rest of my spiel has long since been forgotten these words have stayed with me - quite possibly out of guilt (although in terms of an actual confession, it now feels akin to running through a field of wheat). 

Certainly at the time I used it to illustrate the need for a plan, but when I called it to mind recently I began thinking that perhaps the Cat was instead bestowing on Alice the gift of meandering, to drift without purpose, or at least to cut yourself some slack if you don't end up where you think you ought to be - yet have shown no commitment in getting someplace else. Or perhaps that's just wishful thinking, as I appear to be Alice and three decades on, I'm still walking.

For someone who has issues with control, the lackadaisical approach I take with my life is slightly incongruous.  And, as my friends who invited me to accompany them on a trail run last Sunday can testify, I'm clearly more convivial when equipped with a map, yet I can't help shake the feeling that some of the best fun was to be had when we were 'lost'.  I loved my day out with them so much and, despite perhaps giving the impression to the contrary, the detours just meant we were out for longer and had more opportunity to laugh, safe in the knowledge that, with the rough idea we had of our bearings, we would eventually find our way home.

It is the start of the school holidays, usually this feels like the start of summer - six weeks stretching out in front of us (albeit with most of the first week spent catching up on sleep).  This year, like with so many other things, it feels different - it feels like it's the beginning of the end.  Our lockdown bubble will burst come September as Alastair returns to work full time.  I am struggling to feel the excitement of the summer 'break' amidst the anxiety of what my life looks like come September, when my world increasingly starts to return to normal and I imagine myself left ambling along a road to nowhere.

I am panicking that I've not done enough during lockdown, PE with Joe has finished and I haven't even started my fitness campaign.  The upstairs room is still littered with the evidence of once started, never finished self help courses designed to make me change my habits: focus and productivity becoming second nature to me by the end - except I never get that far.  And now, like a day of reckoning I am hauling myself over the coals for my perpetual procrastination, or avoidance tactics (making four summer dresses and buying a fifth that it's unlikely to be warm enough to wear).

I need a plan.  (To be honest, now I come to think of it, Alastair may tell you that this is normal start of the holidays behaviour for me... when I appear with the dreaded job list!).  I need to decide what it is I actually want to achieve and then either get it done, or concede that I don't care enough and move on.  I will tidy the upstairs room by the end of the week, I may not care enough to complete the worksheets, and yes sis, I may even go as far as to bin them!