Plan B

This week I chucked a massive wobbly about missing my Dad. In specific I chucked a wobbly because I'm on the verge of getting bigger premises for my shop, and this is not something I thought I would do ever without him. I've been talking about this location for months and months and negotiation has been going on for about that long, until I finally gave up on the place before Xmas. Suddenly last week the agent called to tell me that the owner put an offer on the table - a good offer, better than those I'd asked for earlier. So it became (again) a very real possibility for me and the future of my business. My Mom (who is here visiting) really wanted to see the place, so I called the agent and asked him if he wouldn't mind showing my Mom and I around the place again so she could see it.

My Mom walked in, looked around for about 3 minutes, and walked out again, and impatiently waited for us to leave the place while I spoke to the agent about a few matters. In the car on the way back, I wanted to ask her what she thought, but she was silent and so I was silent. At home, I tried asking, "Don't you think it has potential?" but again, she was lost in thought until finally she said, "Your Dad would look at it and see a gem. Me, I just see an empty box which needs cleaning up."

Now this is not at all a criticism of my Mom. She just prefers things to be neat and tidy and shiny and new, and seeing potential in things is not her forte. It's just how she is, and that's fine.

However, her reaction (or non-reaction) made me miss my Dad in such a keen way as to feel it physically. My Dad was a real visionary when it came to these sorts of things. He could look at a pile of rubble and see the mansion hiding underneath. That was just one of his skills, and in general he also had a real affection for making things reborn. He loved to tinker and fix and modify and improve - it was just his "thing". Give him a 'fixer upper' and he was happy as anything - endless trips to hardware stores, driving across country to get a certain type of window fitting, calling craftsman to make custom cabinetry, and so on. My Mom on the other hand would prefer to take care of the window dressing once the place was done. Her skill is in the finishing details.

Needless to say, missing my Dad translated into a whole lot of crying, a whole lot of whining and a whole lot of feeling sorry for myself and wallowing. That night I texted a friend of mine, and said, "I just can't do this without my Dad. I NEED my Dad at this juncture in my life, and I just CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT HIM."

A few minutes passed, and the text reply came back. "So what is Plan B?"

Plan B? WHAT Plan B? I thought about it for a second. If I really CANNOT do this without him, then that would mean I cannot move anywhere from here, and as we already know, this year is all about progress. If, as I claimed, I simply am unable to do it without my Dad...what the hell happens to my progress? What happens to all my plans, my hopes, my future success, my...everything? Does it just...end...right here and now?

My return text was simple. "I have no fucking idea."

As I'm sure is obvious, it was a reply sent out of anger and irritation. Anger that my Dad was not here, anger that my friend was not allowing me to wallow, irritation that my friend did not pat me on the head and tell me it would be okay, irritation that me - control freak that I am - did not have an immediate, witty reply as I normally would have done.

Damn. Hit me square between the eyes, it did. Plan B?

Really?

Shit.

There IS NO Plan B.

So in the absence of a Plan B, I returned to the Plan A - which was success planned *without* my Dad here. And sure, I'd like to believe he is watching over me, and I can talk to him when I like, and that he has some sort of cosmic hand in making things go my way. But I made those plans WITHOUT those beliefs. I made those plans based on what I can do ON MY OWN TWO FEET, not on my own two feet with my Dad being the shoes.

So I sent another text, which said, "I revise my earlier comment. It's not that I cannot do it without my Dad, it's that I don't really want to." In retrospect I think that really more accurately reflects the situation. It's not that I can't, it's that in a perfect world I wouldn't have to - but since this isn't a perfect world, I've just got to get on with it.

Because getting on with it was my plan anyway, and he'd expect nothing less.

Progress indeed.