Dateline:  London Heathrow  International Branch Office, Several years ago, back when I was not the Emotioanl Maturity Queen I am now….

“What are the thoughts that determine you?  What are the thoughts that destroy You?”

As the man says on NCIS, successful Black Ops are 80% planning and 20% execution.  I agree with him with one…just one tiny…added thought.  Planning only works when it works.  When your plan tanks, what do you do next?   How happy are you when your careful and time-consuming Plan A goes off track?

Does your fact-observing, what’s best in the long-term…Thinking Guidance System remain in charge or do you fall into the hideous crater of exaggerated emotions and victimhood, the home of your Emotional Guidance System?

At the point your Plan A falls apart, do FACTS or ANXIETY take charge? 

You’d think that those of us who pride ourselves (pride…always a problem for those of us trying to be cool), You’d think in planning efficiently…we would build in a “what if” clause, a Plan B, but no way.  We don’t need no stinking back-up plans….That’s just how great we are at what we do.

The Eight-Hour London Hysteria Incident, which was entirely not my fault, would not have occurred if I could be in charge of running the world….Okay, maybe Dictator of American Airlines would be enough.  

We arrived at Heathrow  Airport a full two hours ahead of the flight.  (Why do I mention this?  Because… the next time I report that yet another ticket agent has refused to re-open the door and let me aboard, even though I’m just the tiniest bit late…I can remind American Airlines that arriving early hasn’t worked that well for me in our relationship, either.)

Oh, well. Time for a hearty breakfast.  I familiarize myself with the scant fast food options and, perhaps longing for home, choose a taco place.  I know, Mexican food in England, I deserve what I get, right?  The enchiladas were a bit frozen in the middle, but “Whatever,” I said, gaily to my special person who was, I could tell, pleasantly surprised at my flexible attitude toward dastardly mismanagement of my favorite dish.  Oh, if the poor man only knew.

My months-ahead-of-time Perfect Plan A: Leave London on flight at 2:30 p.m.  Just after the meal, I’d have a second glass of iced sauvignon blanc.  I awaken to the smell of toast as we neared Dallas-Ft. Worth International.  We’d take the 8:30 p.m. into Austin, be home around 10:00 p.m.  I’d awaken to the sounds of hungry dogs and pop into the hospital ready to work.

Commence laughter.  Though I wasn’t laughing.  Because this is SERIOUS. At the time, I was convinced that my missing meetings or re-arranging appointments would alter major world events.  Right.  Now we’re back to the false pride, aren’t I indispensable…but the kind of pride locking my gears wasn’t worry that others would suffer….I went off the sanity grid because my efficient and economical plan was being messed with.  I love it when my friends, family, or special person says, “I don’t know how you do it.  Great schedules, good seats, and at what a price!”

Such an ego massage wasn’t going to happen today.  The first notice of a late departure came at 2:30, which wasn’t a big surprise as we hadn’t loaded.  Two hours they lied said.  Then four.  At this point, I am running from ticket counter to ticket counter pleading for a seat on another airline that can get me over the Atlantic on the day I’d planned… No one observing my efforts wouldn’t had used the word “pleading,” but “hysterically demanding” sounds so judgmental.  At each counter I’d point over at the American Airlines desk indicating my torturers with a shaky finger.

Periodically, I return to where my special person is reading his book.  I “explain” all the ways in which life will never be the same.  He listens and doesn’t suggest I calm down. (This isn’t his first meltdown.)  What he does suggest, however, takes me further around the bend.

He suggests that since my Plan A isn’t going to work out, perhaps I should establish a plan B….get some reading done.  Catch up on correspondence.  He is going with his Plan B….

What?  Is he crazy?  He obviously doesn’t get the situation.  Can’t he see that my ranting and hovering over the American Airlines counter are preventing them from further ruining our lives?   Read?  How could he even suggest….

“You have the right to choose a Plan B,” he points out.  And he was right. But, like the guy in handcuffs whose just been informed he has the right to remain silent…I had the “right” but not the “ability.”

Five hours.  Tacos.  Tears.  Six…a sub sandwich…Eight hours later we board….

Thus, I’ve come to the conclusion that being able to establish and go with a Plan B or C, is a more important skill than the capacity to put together a perfect Plan A.