I’ve never been comfortable without a plan. I live for to-do lists and enjoy crossing things off one by one. My Google Calendar is updated meticulously; I lay out my workdays by the hour. My fellowship with the Island Institute and AmeriCorps will not end until this August, but I have already started networking and setting up informational interviews in pursuit of a new job.

If I don’t know where I am going or what I am going to be be doing, I immediately classify myself as a failure. My lack of concrete plans for this fall is very uncomfortable for me.

But I had this Wednesday all figured out.

I was going to wake up and go for my morning run. I’d bake some muffins and trek down to Isle au Haut’s town Hhall/gym/library to open the library for a few hours. I’d chat with Ed about a book we’re both reading. At 1 p.m. I would close the library and go upstairs to the town office to do some random tasks for the Isle au Haut Community Development Corporation. I’d get back home around 4:30 p.m. in time to prep for a Skype conference call at 5 p.m. with Gerry Wurzburg.

It was to be a nice, neat, normal Wednesday. 

Without going into details, I knew immediately upon waking that I’d have to get off island to see my doctor. It was nothing too serious, not anything I was unfamiliar with, but I knew that I’d have to get checked out.

It wasn’t until I had sold myself on the idea of needing to go the doctor that I remembered I live on an island… and the boat leaves at 8 a.m. Instead of going through my day methodologically as planned, I was in full on panic-mode. Rush to the boat, rush to Bangor (praying that my doctor would have an appointment available for me), rush to get my prescription filled and rush back to Stonington in time to catch the 3:30 p.m. boat.

I did make it. I collapsed on the boat’s bench, exhausted and slightly (well, very) annoyed. What would have only been a minor inconvenience on the mainland had just cost me my entire day. I sat there, playing Candy Crush on my phone (I’m on level 120—I have a problem) and wondering why it was that I had ever thought it was cool to live out in the middle of the ocean. I was about to call my mom to vent about how my day was the worst day of all time (I can have slight drama queen tendencies when my plans go awry) when Steve walked onto the boat.

I smiled. He’s one of those people whose mere presence relaxes me. He sat down and we started chatting. Then it happened. He asked what I was planning to do once I’m done being an Island Fellow.

I immediately panicked.

I started talking in circles. I insisted that I didn’t know. I’m poking around trying to find where I’d be a good fit. But I’m not totally sure. I’d like to continue in the non-profit sector. I still want to live and work along the Maine coast. I want to do something that blends my resource/environmental economics background with my community development experience. But I don’t know what that is.

Steve saw my frustration and patiently reminded me that it’s OK not to know.

As he put it, “It’s the ‘in-between’ stages where you learn the most about yourself, where you’re challenged and forced to be resourceful.” He went on to say, “If you don’t find a job immediately, you’ll figure it out. You’ll see what you’re made of. Don’t fear the unknown. It’s a great place to be. Anything’s possible. Be open to that.” 

If I do find myself without a plan, I can’t say that I’ll be happy about it. if Wednesday was any indication, I’ll be downright miserable. But Steve’s right. It might be good for me. Besides, if I can handle the wrenches Isle au Haut throws into my plans, I should be able to maneuver through whatever obstacles the mainland presents.

I settled onto my couch and opened up Skype. I made it home just in time for my conference call. I crossed one thing off of my calendar. It was better than nothing.