Once upon a time…
I had a Plan. It was simple, something I really wanted and so pretty much had my heart set on.
Then I did my GCSEs and for some reason got it into my head that I didn’t need to study because I’d ‘got this’.
Needless to say, I hadn’t ‘got this’ at all – far from it. I collected my final grades on results day and was bummed to see just how wrongly ‘got this’ described my situation. I hadn’t done badly really, but I knew that I could’ve done better… Hell, I could’ve aced those exams if I’d studied and I knew it.
However, I just managed to keep my place at the sixth form I really wanted to go to and so I was off, with visions of this Plan clearly pinned in front of me and my regrets over my grades shoved at the back of my mind to be confronted at a later date, preferably when my Plan had materialised and I could laugh over them.
This method of hiding from the sad truth rather than facing it and deciding where to go from there meant that it was only at 2am, when I was lying awake contemplating existence, that I’d allow myself to even begin to consider a Plan B… On some level I think I’d still managed to fool myself into thinking that everything would work out fine and that I’d still ‘got this’ and my Plan would still go, well, as planned.
Of course, this couldn’t possibly be the case so I began to very tremulously think about what else I could do if these grades proved to be the be all and, most likely, end all of my Plan.I let myself begin to dwell on other ideas and, before I knew it, my Plan had effectively gone out the window and been replaced by a horrible feeling of complete self-doubt. Even so, I refused to acknowledge that I was falling and so kept on going, spinning into a plan-less void of anxiety over a future that could still be on track if I hadn’t been so bigheaded back last summer.
However, today I had a meeting with my housemaster at school. It was a little soul-destroying and I came out feeling like I’d been hit by a few trucks and run over by a bus. I’d been told that the grades I’d achieved at GCSE really would influence my future, and not in a positive way in regards to my Plan, the thing that I suddenly felt slipping through my sudden, frantic grip. But, after a bout of teary panic, I decided that I could turn this around.
Yes, I wish my plan could still be a Plan.
Yes, I wish I’d studied and thought everything through properly.
Yes, I wish I’d thought of a Plan B earlier on and avoided all of this.
But I didn’t.
And that’s ok, because instead I got the kick in the teeth I needed to make me go home and consider six questions I should have thought about a long time ago:
- What do I really love in life?
- So far, what’ve I done that I’m proud of?
- If I didn’t care at all what anyone thought, what would I do?
- If my life was completely limitless and I could have and do whatever I wanted, what would I have and what would I do?
- If I had a billion pounds, what would I do?
- Who do I admire most in life and why?
Perhaps they seem silly, but they helped me.
I don’t have a Plan anymore, but I have plans.
I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.