#142: The problem with having everything planned out.
Learning to enjoy what you find, even when it’s not what you expected.
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Connor came home from George Mason University talking about his day like he’d discovered buried treasure.
“Mom, you should see this library — it has all these different wings and levels, and the campus has these beautiful brick buildings, and I found this whole section of Fairfax I’d never seen before!”
I was listening to him describe what essentially amounts to an ordinary Tuesday at a state school library. He was practically glowing.
At 22, Connor has developed very specific preferences about where he can think best, work best, exist best in the world. Libraries top the list. But our tiny Fairfax County library branches weren’t cutting it for his post-graduation job search, so he drove 30 minutes to work at George Mason for the day. But Connor, being Connor, didn’t just find a desk and hunker down. He explored. He wandered floors and wings during breaks. He took detours through campus walkways. He strolled streets in nearby Fairfax City he didn’t know existed.
None of these things are objectively stunning. George Mason’s campus is nice. Fairfax City is fine. But he came home energized, describing his discoveries like he had just found the Library of Alexandria.
I’m sheepish to admit it, but listening to my son marvel at 1960s architecture made me envious. If I had been in his place, the only reason I would have walked around is to find the bathroom. I doubt I would have even noticed the mottled red bricks. No, I would’ve marched into that library with a mission: find desk, open laptop, execute plan. Point A to Point B, people. That’s how I typically operate: I arrive expecting things to go a specific way, the way I’ve already planned out, the BEST way. I'm not looking for surprises, I'm looking for success.
But Connor, no matter his original intent, always manages to notice far more than what’s merely in front of his face.
The Connor Method.
So what if I tried his approach? Last month in London, I got my chance to find out.
I’d planned my usual tourist agenda: exploring neighborhoods, watching Wimbledon on the big screen in St. James square, stopping at an art exhibit — my typical, rigorous sightseeing routine. Day One I dutifully executed the plan, despite the brutal heat and poor shoe choice that left me with blisters.
On the morning of Day Two, I was sitting on the edge of my hotel bed, my gaze switching between my battered feet and the weather app that promised more suffocating humidity…
Screw it. I’m staying in.
But immediately the guilt monologue started. You flew across an ocean, Deagle. You can’t waste a London day hiding in your room. That’s what lazy people do. Productive people push through discomfort.
Then it hit me: what would Connor do? He’d find what he loved, rather than forcing himself to do what he had planned. So I got curious about what I actually wanted. About other options for what a ‘good day’ might look like.
Revolutionary, right??
It ended up being one of my favorite days of the entire trip.
I spent the day in my hotel room watching Wimbledon, reading the Financial Times, and writing. When I got hungry, I’d venture out — breakfast at the French bakery, lunch at the shawarma shop, afternoon coffee at a sidewalk cafe — then tuck back into my air-conditioned cocoon.
The day was all flow, simply following what felt good.
Lo and behold, the Connor Method had worked; I had found something lovely where I wasn’t expecting it. Instead of mourning my abandoned sightseeing, berating myself for getting off agenda, or forcing myself to carry on, all it took was asking myself: what if I have no idea how lovely a slow day in London can actually be? What if I try to find out?
Screw you, rulebook.
The difference hit me somewhere between my third cafe run and Novak Djokovic’s match — Connor doesn’t drag around the invisible rulebooks most of us carry everywhere.
You know the ones: “Days in Europe must involve sightseeing.” “A fun time requires leaving the house.” “Discomfort builds character.”
I’ve spent most of my life following the rulebooks — I dutifully attended business school, married Prince Charming, got the white picket fence, and climbed the corporate ladder. Check, check, check. But then Prince Charming unexpectedly died (after doing everything right himself), and I realized abiding by the rules doesn’t guarantee us much of anything…
While I’ve gotten a lot better at ignoring these made-up expectations, apparently I still have strong opinions about what makes a day “worth it.”
Which is Connor’s secret. He’s not measuring his library day against some standard. He’s just present with what he finds.
The difference between enduring an experience and excavating it for treasure isn't about being young or carefree. It's about seeing life through the lens of an explorer, rather than a curmudgeon who already knows how things should go. That's when state school libraries become ancient wonders; when hermit days in London feel like moments out of time.
Let go of your ideas of where the treasure should be. Show up ready to dig wherever you are.
With curiosity,
I had a day like this in a New Orleans hotel, with all the accompanying self-recrimination. It's the only day of that trip that I actually remember. I suppose "go with the flow" isn't a cliche' for nothing! And, your hotel room looks fabulous!! Staying in was the obvious choice!