Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly not subservient. I don’t bow to anyone, and I don’t always even compromise easily. I like to have things my way. I just don’t like to have to be the one to plan my way.
In case you are thinking I just humbly do what anyone tells me to, think again. Throw the word “mandatory” into any statement you say to me, and you will see how quickly I walk in the other direction. Just ask the homeschool group that I used to belong to back in the day. They began calling their annual membership meetings “mandatory.” I never darkened the door of their meeting again.
Tell me I “have” to do something, and watch my feathers ruffle. No, I don’t have feathers, but I grow them quickly if you give me an order.
I’m not talking about THAT kind of control. I have no problem being in control in those situations. I mean the control of planning. I just don’t want to have to make the decisions.
For instance, I love to travel. My motto is, “Have suitcase, will travel.” (Actually my motto is, “I tried my best; cut me some slack,” but that’s a different topic.) Anywho, I love to travel. However, I don’t want to plan the trip. I just want to show up and be told which bus/plane/boat to get on. If I have to decide, I become a nervous wreck.
I’ve visited 9 countries in 21 days. No problem. I’ve taken a ferry from a big island in the Bahamas to a tiny cay. No big deal. I’ve been to Haiti and Mexico and Grand Cayman and Jamaica. Piece of cake. The common factor of those trips is that I didn’t have to plan them. I just showed up. That’s how I prefer to roll.
So, this week, I’m facing a trip. It’s a big trip. At least, I think it’s a big trip. I’m flying to Reno for a conference. Tomorrow, I will head to a hotel in Orlando to spend the night. Then, on Thursday, I hit the road, er, uh, I mean, I hit the air. I’ll be gone away from my beloved husband and children for a week. Gee, I’m really going to miss them. (Insert happy dance here.)
For the most part, this trip is planned for me. I travel with a friend/co-worker of mine. As usual, she chose the flight, and she chose the hotel in Orlando. Lest you think I’m complaining, I’m not. Actually, I’m really glad she did. It meant I didn’t have to decide. When we get there, we’ll get off the airplane where we’ll be greeted by her aunt and uncle. They will chauffeur us, feed us and entertain us until the conference starts. It’s a trip made in heaven.
I am so relieved that I won’t have to decide anything while I’m gone. Really, I break out in a nervous sweat just thinking about deciding. I’m a grown woman (Ugh. I’m an adult), and I get nervous over booking a hotel room. Silly, isn’t it? I birthed two babies and have managed to keep them alive for quite some time. I graduated college with a 4.0. I ran a few businesses where I hired and fired employees and did a pretty good job. I cared for inmates, I mean foster kids, in a children’s home. I’ve been through a whole lot, yet booking a room makes me nervous. Go figure.
Once the flight and hotel were booked, I thought I was home-free on the planning stuff for this trip. Then, Mr. E and I began discussing the fact that it might be better for me to rent a car and turn it in at the airport instead of leaving our car there for a week. All at once, I was supposed to find and book a rental car. This is actually something I’ve never done before. I’ve never driven a rental car either. I guess I won’t mention that when I pick it up tomorrow. They might charge me an extra "newbie" fee or something.
I told Mr. Everything that renting a car was above my pay-grade, but he just rolled his eyes. I began searching online to see what I could find. My shirt grew wet with sweat. (Well, that’s just nasty, isn’t it?) I walked away and found laundry and other things to do to distract myself. If I can’t work something out, I just procrastinate. That’s my game plan.
Later, I worked up the nerve to look at the car rental sites again. I had a talk with myself, and I said, “Self." (That’s what I call myself.) I said, “Self. You can do this. You are 40 years old, and you are smart.” My self reminded me to stop saying I was 40, because we don’t like to talk about that. After that pep talk, I thought I could do it, so I headed to the couch, AKA my office, to once again tackle the ‘net.
When I went in the room, Mr. Everything said, “What time do you want to pick up the car?” He was booking it. (!!!) The 16 year old that is trapped in this 40 year old body (40. Ugh.) smiled a huge smile and said, “You’re booking it for me???” He said he was. I threw my arms around him and gave him a big old kiss. This is why I love that man. He never tells me anything is mandatory, and he doesn’t make me make decisions when I don’t want to either. I need to add “Knight in Shining Armor” to his description of Everything. He, once again, rescued me. Now, the only decision left is what’s for lunch tomorrow. Any suggestions? -Al