Be prepared for Plan A, B, C, D, E...

It takes awhile to reach that point in life where we can begin to let our guard down and admit past mistakes. Some of us never get to that point.

While exchanging horror stories with a friend, regarding the challenges related to rearing teenagers, we agreed we'd never want to be 16 again, even if we knew what we know now. Here's what I figure: you're still going to make mistakes, missteps and wrong turns... it's just gong to be a whole different bunch of them. I'm lucky enough to know from experience.

My Plan A was to attend a college in Montana, in a town located in a super secret government freezer, and become a forest ranger. I thought it was a brilliant plan, despite the adversity of having to brave incredibly cold, sometimes harsh, winters. If you want a better understanding of how challenging a Montana winter is... climb into a bathtub filled with ice cubes.

Anyway, Plan A ran smoothly until some of my older colleagues began graduating and unable to find jobs, other than cutting down trees for logging companies.

I figured, if I ended up working cutting down trees for a living the odds were great I'd drop a tree on my head, so I switched to Plan B.

Plan B had its own set of challenges, including working for five different newspapers in five different cities in three different states during an eight-year period.

Fortunately, all of these geographic changes occurred because of unsolicited job offers, not from dropping a typewriter on anyone's toes.

During that time I began to develop Plan C, owning my own newspaper. That lasted about 24-hours until I figured out it would take about 50 years to save enough pocket change for a down payment.

On to Plan D... become a partner in a newspaper. That worked and was several years later followed by a return to Plan C, when a great-uncle passed away, leaving me with a small pot of starter money. Eventually I owned a small percentage of one newspaper and a modestly unprofitable shopper while being the outright owner of a small weekly paper in a oddly named South Dakota community called Murdo. I spent many days and weekends rushing back and forth between three towns, which wasn't a part of any plan.

All this eventually led to Plans D, E, F, and G. After all these years I've run through the alphabet, twice, and am now working on Plan RRR (and no, that's not an acronym for Robert's Rapid Retirement).

What's the main thing I learned from all this moving and grooving between all these plans? Maybe that we shouldn't attach too much significance to the options and choices we have in life. They are just different choices and options and there have never been any guarantees on which you get - no matter what the skill, preparation, execution time, effort or opportunity all total up to.

I suppose we all have to learn this important lesson when we arrive at a place in our lives where we can openly talk about our mistakes and begin to see life for what it really is... an unlimited supply of choices and opportunities to get what we all really want, no matter what we choose to call it. What we want is an abundance of the good feelings that come from loving and being loved, finding truth and experiencing beauty.

I suppose we all have to learn this important lesson when we arrive at a place in our lives where we can openly talk about our mistakes and begin to see life for what it really is... an unlimited supply of choices and opportunities to get what we all really want, no matter what we choose to call it. What we want is an abundance of the good feelings that come from loving and being loved, finding truth and experiencing beauty.

I've learned not to look back at any of these plans with regret... even laugh at some of them.

One wintery cold evening in Wyoming, while cruising along a slippery country road in a 1969 International Scout, I missed a curve and went into a ditch. Fortunately a friend, driving a much newer 1970 International Scout, happened by, saw my mishap, and pulled over to assist.

We hooked up a chain and he pulled me partially out, until he lost traction and slid backwards into the front of old Betsy. I started laughing, because now we were both stuck. He was laughing, too.

My passenger thought we were both nuts. I explained, "We only have two choices, laugh about it or cry. I'd rather laugh."

We have to learn to laugh at the obstacles.

I remember once admiring a lonely pine tree that was tenaciously growing out of, and clinging to, the rocky cliff face at the top of Fairfield Mountain, south of Lander, Wyo. Do you think that was that tree's Plan A?

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