As a novelist I find that everything I write works better when it exists on the faintly drawn lines of an outline. I don’t ever treat an outline as a rulebook, but instead an idea of an idea; the thought of what I want to achieve on a chapter by chapter basis that affords me the space to create and the guide to stay relatively on task. My life has no such line. It certainly ought to. As it stands I find myself aimless for entire days. While the issue of depression certainly factors into all of this the core situation circumstance is in fact not having a plan.
So, what does a life plan look like? I am in no real position to even know. My partner has a two year plan and likely longer range models. I’ve not seen this plan (draw conclusions as you will, but I will not). I have not developed my own plan beyond the economic hopes and dreams of 2021. I do know that I don’t even approach a daily plan short of the laundry list of chores and classes that needs to get done.
I function better when I have lists. Those lists are basically the kernel sentence of any functional life plan. Perhaps I ought to be thinking about what I want life to look like in the coming days, months, and even years and stop staring at each day as though it is the only one that matters and what matters in that sole day is finding moments of peace and joy. When written into existence it doesn’t sound like a bad plan. However, I live a far more complex life than that, and I need more out of, well, everything as a result.