We have ruminated and discussed, questioned and queried, mused and calculated. We came up with a number. Determined how long it would take us to save the number. Figured out how big the number would be if we didn’t save quite enough, and thought about what that would mean.
What have we learned? Turns out it’s not about that number at all.
In the end, after all the conversation, it came down to the 25 years between now and then.
Twenty five years ago I was 19 years old. At nineteen years old I couldn’t imagine even being 30, never mind being forty four. I certainly would never, in my wildest dreams, have imagined what I have done between then and now.
Married. Divorced. Moved. Schooled. Hitched. Settled. Unsettled. Travelled. Successful.
How can I possibly predict what will happen in the next 25 years; the time between now and then? Why are we getting caught up in what it will look like then? Trying to plan for a time that we just can’t imagine any clearer than we could imagine now from back then?
My mum said it best in reference to she, and my dad, emigrating from England oh-so-many-years ago with my sister and I in tow:
“We just jumped in and got our feet wet and before too long we were swimming.”
And so, a new plan emerges. Jump. Swim.
Photo Credit: _ambrown