At 19, I had a plan: move to New York City, go to art school, open a studio, and become the best poster designer in the world. I gave myself 15 years; it seemed a reasonable amount of time.
How I was going to achieve these goals I had no idea, but I had the big picture . . . The rest I’d just make up.
Life doesn’t always follow a plan. As the French say, “Shit happens.” Failure was not in my plan. Being asked to leave art school was not in my plan. Losing my day job wasn’t either. But none of these were deterrents. I had a plan. Having a plan helped me form—and keep—a vision of the long term. Having a plan gave me conviction.
At 35, I had kicked the stuffing out of my plan. I had far surpassed my goals. I was an accomplished, in-demand designer with solo exhibitions around the world. I bought a SoHo apartment, married, had a kid, then a house—all the milestones of success. Then a funny thing happened. I woke up at 40 and found myself floundering professionally and failing miserably at life. I realized I no longer had a plan—my plan had ended five years earlier. I had forgotten to re-up the plan.
These days I teach “having a plan.” I often sound like Barney, the purple dinosaur from TV, spouting childish platitudes like “You can’t score without a goal.” But, seriously, you can’t.
In interviews, I ask my young charges where they see themselves in 10 to 15 years. If they answer, “Working,” I ask them to be more specific.
A plan isn’t writ in stone. You don’t have to check it every January 1, and you certainly don’t have to be so manic as to check it every morning and adjust it before bed.
A plan is your true North. It keeps you from wandering aimlessly through life. You now have a quest. It helps define what is and isn’t you. It gives you parameters of what you will and will not do, jobs you will or will not take. More than anything, your plan is a vision of who you can be and an acceptance of the idea that you are worthy of a beautiful and meaningful life.
Have a plan.