I am a planner. I like to write my plans down in my paper calendar, and I derive great pleasure in looking ahead at the calendar to see what’s on the horizon. This past summer, in a massive purge of old boxes in my basement, I found a slew of calendars from my past. I laughed out loud at my younger self, perusing through my high school wall calendar, which included such events as History test, school dance and sleepover at friend’s house.
Those calendars almost always included some sort of colorful count down to the next big thing—the end of the school year, the first day of camp, a graduation, the start of a new school. I seemed to always be waiting on what came next. I remember telling myself that my life, my real life, would start whenever that next thing happened. Read full article here.