I was listening to Ira Glass of This American Life discussing the concept of a Plan B for an episode of the same name. In a room of one hundred people, he asked the audience to raise their hands if they were still on the path to their Plan A:
The one thing that wanted to do with their life originally.
Plan A could relate to a job, a lifestyle, or a family. It is whatever they envisioned their lives as a child, a teenager, or perhaps just coming out of college. Glass wanted to know how many people had achieved their Plan A or were still on the path towards it.
In that room of 100 people, just one person raised her hand. She was a twenty-three-year-old college student.
Many reported to already be on Plan D or E.
Glass went on to say that most people in the world are already on Plan B and that this was perfectly normal. Nothing at all wrong with moving onto Plan B.
I want to quibble with Glass a bit.
Plan B may be perfectly normal, and there may be nothing wrong with moving on to Plan B, but the rationale and reason behind the need for Plan B must be examined closely.
Are you on Plan B because you decided that Plan A wasn’t right for you?
Or were you instead forced to find a Plan B when Plan A became too difficult or impossible to attain?
Did you choose Plan B because you discovered something even more appealing than your original Plan A?
Or did you choose Plan B because Plan A required too much effort?
Had I been in the room with Ira Glass that day, I would’ve also raised my hand, indicating that I am also currently on Plan A.
As a child, I wanted to be a teacher. I remember being eight years old, standing before a Fisher Price blackboard, teaching my younger brothers and sisters everything I knew about geography and math. I remember writing to Santa, asking for a globe, an atlas, and some chalk to help teach my class, and I remember unwrapping them on Christmas morning.
Part of my desire to teach was born from a desire (which still exists today) never to grow up, and the rest came from my love for working with children and my desire for autonomy. After a longer, perhaps more difficult journey than most, I am a teacher today, enjoying nearly a quarter century in the profession.
But in high school, I also decided that I wanted to be a writer. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a journalist, a poet, or a novelist, but I knew I wanted to write.
I often said that my dream was to “write for a living and teach for pleasure.”
So I started writing, first for the high school newspaper, then on early, localized versions of the internet. I filled journals with words, wrote letters to friends, and published my own newsletters and zines. I went to college to earn a degree in creative writing. I wrote short stories, poetry, and columns for the college newspaper. In 2003 I began blogging every day, and eventually, I started writing books. In 2009, I published my first novel, and I’ve published six novels and two books of nonfiction since. I also write columns for two magazines. I’ve written musicals, comic books, magazine pieces, and a rock opera.
It took a long time to get published – nearly two decades after I first dreamed the dream – but it finally happened.
But then in college, I took a class on public speaking with the great Pat Sullivan – the best and most important class I’ve ever taken – and immediately decided that I also wanted to stand in front of audiences and perform for the rest of my life.
So I entered and won statewide debate contests, was elected to a position in student government, and launched a wedding DJ business with my friend, Bengi. Eventually, the desire to perform led me to The Moth and storytelling. Soon after, Elyshaa and I launched our own storytelling company, Speak Up. I began performing on stages around the world. Later, I turned my attention to inspirational addresses, TEDx Talks, and stand-up comedy. I got ordained online so I could officiate weddings and work as a substitute minister at Unitarian Universalist churches.
Today I speak to audiences constantly, both in real life and online, and it has oddly turned into a career. Today I consult with Fortune 100 companies, small businesses, nonprofits, universities, attorneys, politicians, the clergy, and many more on communications, storytelling, and public speaking.
My childhood dream of becoming a teacher, my teenage dream of becoming a writer, and my college dream of becoming a performer have all come true.
Plan A has been achieved. But it took a long time.
I was 24 years old when I finally entered college, 28 years old when I began my teaching career, 36 years old when I sold my first novel, and 38 years old when I started being paid to perform. The road wasn’t easy, but I made it.
I still have other dreams to fulfill – other parts of my Plan A that I continue to pursue – but most importantly, I remain on the original path, working toward the goal. And I have always been on this path, even when I was managing fast-food restaurants, working as a bank teller, and picking up scraps for cash at construction sites.
Even when I was homeless, hungry, and facing a prison sentence, I was fighting for my future.
Each of these moments was viewed as a stepping stone toward my ultimate goal.
I’d hate to think that someone like Ira Glass (who I like very much) might be assuring people everywhere that Plan B is always perfectly acceptable.
Plan B is an excellent idea when you dream a new dream, change your mind, or discover a new corner of the world. I have friends who shifted gears in life not out of necessity but because of a change in desire. A person who thought he wanted to work with computers becomes a teacher in midlife after discovering a talent and desire he didn’t know he possessed. A friend who never wanted children decides to have three kids after marrying the right person. A recently divorced friend swears off marriage for the rest of his life until the perfect woman comes along and changes his mind. A friend sees a business opportunity too good and exciting to pass up and pivots his career midstream,
These are not examples of people shifting to Plan B or Plan C when all hope is lost. These are people widening their views. Expanding their beliefs. Accepting change.
But to give up entirely on Plan A when it remains a burning desire strikes me as tragic and foolish. Giving up on Plan A when it seems impossible is stupid. Surrendering your Plan A because it won’t be as enormous and shiny as you once dreamed makes no sense.
I know someone who wanted desperately to be an actor. When Hollywood didn’t work out, they switched gears to another line of work, which made sense.
Making a living is important.
But their burning desire to perform never died. They still want to act, but instead of performing in local theater or writing their own one-person show or creating a YouTube show where they could perform online, they walked away from their Plan A. Gave up on it entirely.
Hollywood or bust.
This is not the discovery of a better Plan B. This is a surrendering of a Plan A because it wasn’t as fancy or easy as they once dreamed.
Elysha recently met a woman who loved to read and write but has given up both because her job is demanding and her attention span has waned. She actively laments the loss of that past life, but rather than fighting for it, she has surrendered to mediocrity.
I could go on and on. Friends, colleagues, acquaintances, clients, and even former students who dreamt of being or doing something, only to switch to Plan B when Plan A didn’t happen fast enough or become too onerous to continue or demanded too much courage or sacrifice.
These are tragedies. Recipes for disaster. I think decisions like these lead to enormous feelings of regret later in life.
Sometimes Plan A requires more time, effort, and suffering to achieve.
Sometimes Plan A assumes a smaller, more achievable form.
Sometimes Plan A is impossible to achieve but still worthy of a lifelong pursuit.
