When Plans Change Mid-Flight

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Plans changing mid-flight.

Years ago, I read that line from a poem I found amongst my mother’s things, stacked in a beat-up cardboard box, cob-webbed over from years of shelf life in our dark and stuffy garage.

It could be that she wrote this poem, being a writer herself. In my memory, the words were etched by typewriter onto thin, worn-out paper, creased in accidental places.

Or perhaps these were someone else’s lines, and my mother had been so moved by them she’d retyped them herself, and shuffled the loose paper amongst her battered old journals, seasoned photographs, and fading, printed treasures from her past.

And plans have a way of changing mid-flight.

There. That line sounds more accurate. My memory fails to remind me why I was pilfering through that dusty box. These were my teenage years, and I may have been sent searching for some specific thing she’d asked for, or I may have been bored and nosy. I don’t remember.

But I remember this line. It comes to me often, all these years later, as the words ring true still.

Our plans are essential to nurturing our motivation to move forward. Plans to tackle that project. Plans to…