I am a planner . . .with a big Franklin Covey. .back in America, I had the biggest one available! But I have managed to downsize in my Peace Corps experience. With fewer manicures, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem. But I’ll admit, even now, it make me happy to have a week of activities.
But because of my wise husband (who, on our fifth or sixth date, explained our differences by telling me my theme song was Eye of the Tiger and his was Easy Like Sunday Morning) my obsession with planning has decreased. While a few years ago, I purchased tickets to the August Barenaked Ladies concert in June, chose our seats on a handy theater web site, printed a map, researched parking options and read reviews of the restaurants in a three block radius for a perfect pre-event appetizer, I might now wait until the week before and care quite a bit less about where we sit or where the car ends up. Life works out, I’ve discovered. And if you’re in good company, how the night unfolds matters less. I’ll admit this has been a rocky, yet pleasing evolution for me. A less-planned life is definitely a more “present” life. But still, let’s be real. If you want to join the Peace Corps, have a baby, get a graduate degree or fly across the world, there are deadlines, biological clocks, aging parents, pets, paperwork and fluctuating flight prices that demand preparation.
This brings me to Bulgarians and my experience now. Kind of like some people just aren’t into heavy metal, they’re just not into planning. They don’t listen to it. They don’t care about it. They don’t do it. Next week is not a concern. Today and tomorrow are. And we’ve been forced to adapt, removing ourselves from that previous somewhat self-defeating future-focused mindset: the one that causes over-consumption at Costco, a never-ending cycle of worry (once I finish this article, then I will relax—yeah right) and a loss of appreciation for life’s moments. It’s nice, because achieving such peace is part of why we joined the Peace Corps anyway. Here, we buy milk and bread for today. Not only because we lack refrigerator space, but we know it will only be good for about 36 hours. If we want to see a concert on Wednesday, we might buy tickets on the Monday before. While this wouldn’t be possible in the United States, in Bulgaria, they’re available up until the last minute, because that’s when people decide to go. It’s a response to feelings as opposed to schedules. And in some scenarios, it feels good.
Others are more frustrating. Every week, I have a language session with Radost, my Bulgarian tutor. She is a lovely, animated woman, with a scarf the color of peaches and green apples, and dark hair that relaxes, on any day, at the perfect place on her shoulders. My life here is not all that predictable. Although if you’re paying someone, it’s typical to create a schedule, right? But Radost insisted she was flexible. We may start out with Tuesdays at six, but if I had to change it, at any time, it wasn’t a problem.
Sounds great, right? Okay. Sure. But as my brain digested this bit of information, I realized that if I was to take advantage of her carefree MO, it meant I had mirror this flexibility. Blaring sirens go off in my brain. . moments of panic. . ..if I build my daily transportation and tasks around timed appointments and if someone is so easily capable of flaking, this sets every other appointment off and I guess that means I have to make less appointments and my gosh, does that mean I will end up getting less done? Yes. It’s okay, Andrea. Really, everything will be okay.
But the strangest thing happened. I realized, after a couple weeks, that because my schedule depended on other Bulgarians, who also failed to plan ahead, I ended up calling Radost frequently to change my lesson. Furthermore, I found this freedom, when not abused, was unbelievably liberating! Recently, I asked a Bulgarian why they didn’t prefer to plan. They told me, without hesitation, that everything would happen as it was meant to, so why worry about it? Riiiiight. That’s very romantic and all, but it’s a little too far from free will. According to that old plaque of mine I received from my Aunt Sue for High School (or was it college) graduation, I’m supposed to “act as if everything depends upon me and pray as if everything depends upon God,” fate/a higher being. (still working that out). I believe that. And furthermore, I believe that I am responsible for my own happiness. My future success depends on my current behavior. Oprah, I know this much is true!
But to a Bulgarian, maybe not. During communism—only a decade and a half ago—the people were not in charge. Somewhat scarily, like pods in the Matrix, they were under a higher control. With this regime, Bulgarians knew that the results would be the same, regardless of how hard they tried. Work more hours and receive the same pay. So why plan? Why, in fact, expect ambitious behavior to have any bearing on future events? Yikes. That’s when I really began to understand. No wonder people don’t have daytimers. No wonder they hand me grant applications two weeks before they’re due. No wonder my colleagues are confused with my four-month wipe-board calendar. They do not so wholly connect their own actions with an outcome.
But in its bizarre wake, communism has inadvertently left a blessed trail of individuals who live for the moment. That’s the good energy I’ve gleamed from this post-communist dust. A pot of bright red geraniums on the balcony of the Orwellian apartment block. And now, without making a line item in my planner, I must somehow remain true to my Peace Corps principle of idea transfer while adapting to the Bulgarian way of life. I must leave my week full of white space, but help my organization think ahead a bit more. I must stop my madness, but demonstrate the positive side of planning. And I only have 18 months left, so I’d better get started. P.S. Mom, this title is dedicated to you. Don’t know if you ever really loved that song, but I seem to remembe you singing it. . .(not as much as “I Love a Parade”) but it reminds me of you.
