EDIT DESK: Five-year plans

For as long as I can remember, my life had a plan.

Jacqueline Tenreiro/B&W Staff

I could, without pause, recite the vision I had for myself — what I’d be doing, when I’d be doing it and where I would be. The question “Where do you see yourself in five years?” never had me flustered — whether asked by nosy relative or staunch interviewer.

I can vaguely recall the fifth grade, worrying my fellow 11-year-olds into thinking they should know what to do with their lives because I had already decided my high school course load, university of choice and probable college major. My five-year plans were practically legendary in their hyper-detail, and the conviction with which I clung to them was enough to see me set and unflappable in my pursuits.

That is, until college applications rolled around, and for the first time, I completely, utterly and plan-lessly changed my mind.

It should be noted that the last plan entailed medical school, a liberal arts college somewhere in New England and spending the rest of my days with a scalpel in hand as a cardiothoracic surgeon. Not quite reminiscent of where I find myself now.

In short, I have failed spectacularly at following any of my five-year plans thus far — and, in truth, I am so much better off for it.

The most rewarding parts of my life have been the ones that were never written into those plans, or even considered, as I unknowingly and naively crafted the mold for my future.

I couldn’t plan adequately for five-years-from-now me, because I had no idea who she was yet.

That’s the tricky thing about planning so far in advance. There’s a dangerously ambiguous amount of time between the future that you’re accounting for and present in which you’re planning it, and that time could be filled with the kind of experience and knowledge that you need to make decisions.

Your plan need not be exclusively linear, nor set in stone earlier than you need it to be. The privilege that comes with making plans is that you have the time to accomplish the goals within them. You have time — five years’ worth, even — to live through and learn from all the unfamiliar things that are unfamiliar to you now.

That isn’t to say you shouldn’t plan for yourself. Having goals is vital to making any move toward an accomplishment. But being open to alternatives is just as important as having direction, and in the ever-evolving world we find ourselves in, adaptability could be our very best asset.

The guidelines we set for our futures should be exactly that — guides, never limitations or boundaries by which we restrict ourselves. To never stray from a set plan is to never afford yourself the opportunity to be involved with something outside the realm of what you’ve resigned yourself to.

If you feel compelled to try something in the first place — whether or not it coincides perfectly with your plan — you should see that desire through, because at least a small part of you possesses some kind of interest or want for it. Your plan, after all, is meant to be about what you want, isn’t it?

So you may not redefine what you should do with your life, or amend your plans too greatly, but you’ll have widened the breadth of your experience by that much.

A mission statement is the express purpose for which something exists. According to Wikipedia’s definition, it “spell(s) out (an) overall goal, provide(s) a path, and guide(s) decision-making.”

A more expansive version of a five-year plan, if you will.

When you first look at company’s mission statement, you’ll notice just how broad it is. Google doesn’t say it seeks to be the leader in web browser speed, result numbers or search perameters. Instead, Google says its mission is to “organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and usable.”

Because maybe Google will discover that it can do more and excel in areas somewhere other than where it first expected.

Maybe you’ll find that out for yourself, too.