I did not have to try very hard in school and never learned how to keep myself organized. Even in classes where I struggled, there was always extra credit, there was always something I could do.
But I didn’t challenge myself, it was more just mindless busywork. Lots of words on a page that sounded fancy but maybe didn’t say much. Very detailed, handwritten notes on something I didn’t understand. A very well-put presentation, but at base value just word salad.
My teachers liked me because I was a good communicator. I was polite and respectful and minded my own business and I coasted through on sheer reading level and writing talent.
I sometimes wish maybe I had been a little behind the curve so I could have learned hard work and perseverance. But it wasn’t my fate.
I’m obsessed with buying and writing in notebooks. I love the feeling of pen on paper – kinda like asmr but without the tingles? – but I never had anything to fill them with. Never had any real writing projects, because as talented as I am, I don’t have great ideas. I’m not inspired, you know? But I love to move the ink onto the page.
The only time I really feel like it’s natural is when I’m writing poetry. Something about that is a totally different ballgame for me.
Anyway, when I was maybe 20 years old I wanted to buy this really adorable planner. I had a part time job at the time and no money or social life, so there was no reason for me to need a planner at all. My husband at the time told me this.
He wasn’t a nice man. He could have said something kind, like “We can definitely buy you that, but is it something you think you’ll use all of? I know you like the idea of it, but let’s try to fill it with things you can do and make the most of it.”
You know – supportive. Encouraging, empathetic. Unfortunately I was married to a man who instead said things like, “Why would you spend money on that, you’ll barely get a month’s use out of it. You never finish things you start. You’re not disciplined enough to keep up with it. You just waste our money.”
It broke my heart for a couple of reasons – first because he was really right. I never finished notebooks I started, I tried to write something, lost my inspiration and packed the notebook away. But it hurt because the reason I wanted this one was because I had never finished another one – it had a section in it that it said would keep me motivated and keep me returning to check my progress. I wanted to be better about the things I started. But he put me down about it before he could see the change I was going to try to make.
And I was going to try and fill my days with more work and try to find another part time job. He had just told me that I had gained weight and that was why he wasn’t sleeping with me anymore, and that if I wanted sex I’d need to bring in more money. I thought if I got myself a planner and started getting my life together, I could fix things between us and start bringing in more funds and start feeling his affection again.
I was also hurt by what he said because it was mean-spirited. It wasn’t meant to warn me of something he was trying to help me with, or improve my critical thinking, or benefit me in any way. It was meant to remind me of my inferiority and put the silly notion out of my mind. It didn’t have a message of belief in me, or constructive critique. It was just words for me, for him to see the result of.
I ordered my planner anyway today, even though sometimes the things he said would hurt so much I’d listen to them. I waited in anticipation for a week for it to arrive. I was so … I was so excited. I unwrapped it in a flurry, took it out of its box, looked at the art on the cover, flipped through the pages … it was so much prettier in person.
I took it downtown to my favorite cafe with a pen and my headphones and filled out the whole start of it, my short term goals, everything I was trying to achieve at the time, and where I wanted to be in a few years.
I wrote down all my work shifts, coffee time, dates with my husband, meetups with my sister, everything I could think of. Even though it wasn’t much to fill the pages with, it was great to see it all laid out.
I stuck with it that month, and at the end it asks you how did you do this month, what do your “vibrations” look like, how are you handling things, etc. I loved that it checked up on you – or had you check up on yourself – and held you accountable. It was like the support at home I didn’t have. It was like a friend.
That was six years ago, and I’m on my 7th planner. I filled them all up. At the start of the first few, the stated goal within a year was, “Stay married.” I achieved that. On the fourth one it said, “Get a divorce.” I achieved that too.
My planner is full of amazing things now. I’ve switched from one black pen to colored pencils and stickers. I work full time now and I use it to do my budgeting and shopping lists, manage my fiverr orders, vacations, dates with my man, and holidays and birthdays. On Saturday mornings I wake up in my bed, ready for the weekend, make my coffee, clean up my apartment, start a load of laundry, put on my mud mask, and sit down to write out my next week. I box out my blog and writing projects, list my priorities and tasks at home and at work, my ideas and errands, and leave myself reminders.
My boyfriend sits at his desk playing games while I lay everything out. He comes over and looks at my planner and picks out a sticker or two, and tells me the colors are nice even though he’s partially colorblind. He makes fun of me for having my entire week blocked off for work.
I will never forget ordering my first one or what it did for me. I could never forget what that man said to me, his vote of no confidence, discouraging me, putting me down, dismissing me. If either of us had known the woman I was going to blossom into as soon as he wasn’t weighing me down …
I recommend planners to everyone. I love mine and it keeps me focused. It encourages me, keeps me on track, reminds me to be productive, and makes me feel capable and competent and driven.
Unlike some people.