I Didn't Plan for This

I've always been a planner.  When I was little, I used "naptime" to map out construction of (extraordinarily lucrative) lemonade stands I'd build and (marvelously profitable) newspapers I would publish.  Even today, I can't sleep if there's a new idea brewing in my head.  I'll furiously research topics until I know every last thing about them, carefully formulating an understanding and a plan of action.  I've rarely been in a relationship I didn't mentally explore to its logical conclusion.  I seem to always be able to see at least ten different possible futures and the paths to take for each one.  I'm the party-planner, Julie-Your-Cruise-Director, call-me-and-I'll-take-care-of-it girl.  It makes my poor son crazy.

And yet, in the end, I know most of my really big decisions have been gut-level.  Despite all my planning and pondering and research, when the moment finally came, I just knew.  I took what might be called "inspired action" and everything worked out just right.

You might think this would calm down my innate planning urges.  You might think that over time I would have learned things have a tendency to fall into place just as they're supposed to, with or without my copious notes.  You might think, after years of observing this phenomenon over and over, I'd learn to relax and breathe and trust. 

Eh, not so much.  It turns out I'm a much better planner than relaxer.

We're on the downhill slide now.  College applications for the (now much-grown) Monkey are due in the next 6 weeks or so.  He's sketching out the first version of his future while I count my savings to make sure he gets a good start.  Just beyond this flurry of pre-college/Senior-year motion looms an enormous void I'm becoming increasingly aware I've yet to really contemplate: 

After he goes to college, what do I do then?

Right now, I can only see questions I'm well behind the curve in answering:  How long do I want to keep working?  How long in this line of work?  How does retirement even happen?  If I could do anything, what would it be?  Where do I want to live when I stop living here?  What do I have to finish before I feel like I can go?  How can I take care of my parents from wherever I am?  Why do I feel increasingly restless with this lovely little life I've worked so hard to build?  And why do these questions all feel too enormous to answer when planning is (quite possibly) my favorite hobby?

Maybe this is midlife:  staring down the barrel of 50 at the big, blank canvas of life-after-parenting.  I'm hesitant to call it a crisis, but the intermittent overwhelm is real.  I'm so accustomed to making decisions that take into account someone else, it's an odd thing to confront what it is I might actually want, much less make a plan for it. 

I'm fortunate, I suppose, that planning is what I do.  It's what I've always done, even if my decisions have been made in a single moment.  Four decades of experience tell me I'll either figure this out...or, by happy accident, everything will work out the way it should anyway.  There's some comfort in that wisdom...but I'll probably make a plan, just in case.