No 16 – Rescheduled: Why Broken Plans Are a Powerful Gift

Or as the famous quote goes: “Life is what happens while we are busy making plans.” And I don’t want to miss life. But there is something seductive about a good plan. The predictability. The illusion of control. The reassurance of knowing, more or less, where you are headed. The problem is that a plan is like railways on an open sea — fixed tracks through infinite possibility. The more tightly I follow them, the less I see of everything stretching out on either side.

In business we talk a lot about consciously shaping our path. Planning ahead. Knowing where to go. Projects, schedules, detailed plans. There is a tension between what is and what shall be — and in between, the plan. My coordinates always in relation to the glowing coordinates of an envisioned future success. A guiding star that lights the way, that gives direction and hope.

And I am rarely satisfied with planning just my own life. I have quiet blueprints for the people I love — how they should grow, what they should choose, where they should go. Most people do. We assume we know best. We almost always do — in our own minds. But in reality we are drops of water trying to direct the wave. A broken plan reminds us of this. It is, in the most humbling and necessary way, a lesson in letting go — and knowing our place.

Monday, 10pm. Dark, rainy, the A1 to Cologne. Seat heating on, a carefully chosen podcast, the smell of coffee. A week of productivity and family closeness stretched ahead — planned, structured, mine.

10.10pm. Warning lights. Stop immediately. Any further driving will destroy the engine.

There goes the plan.

My first reaction: oh shit. I was annoyed.

But as I waited — two hours in the dark — for the breakdown service, something shifted. Relief. And curiosity. Kicked out of my known tracks, I could breathe fresh air. Suddenly I had no idea how the week would go. Everything was possible. As if someone had hit shuffle on the playlist of my week and a new song came on. A sense of freedom. Maybe this cosmic interference was a gift, after all.

A broken car is a minor glitch. But there are bigger ones — an unexpected pregnancy, the death of a loved one, illness, divorce, job loss. I saw this minor derailment as a reminder to stay prepared for those too.

Because every moment, big or small, comes with the same question: do I resist or do I let go? Do I cling to the plan and wallow in my disappointment — or do I let myself be redirected, curious about the new road that lies ahead?

A river doesn’t argue with the landscape. It simply finds the lowest point and flows.

I don’t want to argue with my life. Because what is, is. And fighting it is like running against a wall again and again, yelling at it to go away. Whatever life throws my way, I want to stay open — to accept what is and welcome the lesson that comes with it.

Does that mean I will never make plans again? Not at all. I love a good plan. It directs my next step — and for lack of a better navigation system, I appreciate its light. The brief, warm illusion of knowing where I am going. A sketch of a future that life will colour in its own way.

A plan is a placeholder for wisdom I don’t yet have. It moves me forward — until something truer arrives. And when it does, I want to be someone who notices. Who loosens the grip. Who can say: this was my direction. And this, now, is the new one.

I still have a plan. Several, in fact. But I no longer mistake them for the truth. They are my best guess — a sketch, a direction, a first word in a conversation with life. And when life interrupts, I try to turn toward it with curiosity rather than resistance. The river does not grieve the road it cannot take. It simply flows — and in doing so, finds its way to the sea. The plan is not the destination. It is simply an invitation to stay open — to what comes, to what changes, to align with the infinite wisdom of life itself.

Three questions:

• Where are you the drop of water trying to direct the wave?
• What would it mean to hold your next plan with open hands?
• When did a broken plan last lead you somewhere better than the original destination?