My son’s partner has always been a straight shooter. Case in point, just shy of her eighth birthday, she wrote:
Dear Santa, I have been pretty good. Enough of that chit-chat. I want a game boy that’s see through and in color or Pokémon cards. Or a kitten that’s real. Not a toy! A real animal kitten. Or Mattel skateboard Shannen. I do want the kitten that’s real very bad. By Lindsey
(she totally gave me permission to share this, bless her heart)
For years I’ve been fecklessly undecided and unfocused about what I want. Little Lindsey had more feck at eight than I have ever had. So enough of that chit-chat is my new motto—now that my last kiddo is out of college, and I’m back in fine fettle, decidedly not-dead.
I’ve always been great at big ideas. Realizing them has been the challenge. Funny how nearly croaking lights a fire under you to get it together for your remaining years.
Now, my friend Sally is the master of GSD, getting shit done. So when, a couple months ago, she posted a photo of a lovely planner on Instagram—that got my attention. Sally had researched her options and settled on that particular system, despite the hefty price tag. I was curious.
The first time I looked at the sample pages, I thought, “This is silly.” Yearly and quarterly goals. Pfft. Who does that?
Turns out, lots of people do.
I kept going back to those samples, attracted, and the more I looked, the more sense it made. I mentioned the planner to a friend of mine who is also going through some major life transitions. And I confessed, embarrassed, that I was thinking about buying one.
“Well, why not?”
“It’s forty dollars, buddy! Plus tax and shipping!”
“That’s cheaper than a life coach,” he said. “And probably less annoying.”
ENTER: THE PLANNER
I found a coupon online and pulled the trigger.
Hint. It’s one of these.
After I placed the order, I had access to twelve instructional videos. Twelve! No kidding! And to my even greater surprise, it was an earnest, attractive young Christian gentleman who walked us through all the steps in goal-setting and prioritization. (I did not realize I was purchasing from a company steeped in a particular flavor of Christianity. Bygones.)
There is even an additional video with instructions about how to get the book to lie flat. It was all quite darling! And, frankly, useful. Who has not faced a new notebook or planner, all those empty pages, and not known where to begin? Who, indeed, does not have a secret stash of notebooks that are far too beautiful to use?
The planner is essentially a pre-printed 12-week bullet journal on thick ivory paper. With a few helpful (and trademarked!) goal-planning extras. While I waited for the shipment, which seemed an eternity, I began using the system immediately in my messy notebook. Gosh darn it, if setting three top goals for the day did help me achieve the promised “less overwhelm”—an expression that makes me laugh-weep.
Observations from your friendly walking cautionary tale.
- The eau de prosperity gospel makes me nervous. It’s hinted at, suggested, but not stated overtly, but it’s there—the idea that if I commit to my daily prayer, as scheduled, set my priorities, I will become wealthy. This is utter baloney sandwich. I don’t buy (no pun intended) the dangerous personal Jesus theology.
- The repeated use of the phrase “high achievers like you,” in the Facebook users group and in the support materials, is suspicious to me. Again, the whiff of prosperity gospel, “join our club and you’ll find wealth and happiness.” Maybe I have imposter syndrome. Yes, I had to unlearn ingrained learned helplessness in my adult life, but I also happen to be missing the ambition gene.
- It’s a tool, not the grail, the answer, 42. In the Facebook group, several dear subscription purchasers of the planner have lamented that their planners arrive in the mail quarterly and pile up collecting dust. They cannot begin, and they feel guilt and shame, as if they are missing out on the cup of salvation. For a tool to be useful, it must be used. Perhaps this is not the tool for them and they’re just fine without it.
- The inspirational quotes at the top of each page annoy my friend Sally because many are misattributed. They delight me, those insipid nonsequiteurs. I enjoy writing snarky responses. I’m terrible.
- The paper quality is excellent and deeply satisfying.
Enough of that chit-chat.
Bottom line: I have a hate-to-love, love-to-hate relationship with my planner. But I’m in the GSD zone, and, indeed, feeling “less overwhelm.”
(Thank you, Sally.)
Finally: It’s only a 12-week dealio! A short-term commitment. In February I can move on to a less expensive alternative.
I might even go a little wild and use one of the notebooks I already own.