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a picture my son drew of a wave on a beach

Plans Destroy ­Dreams

Winnie and I out running on a dirt track outside Broken Hill
When did my plans become excuses for inaction?

At Wendron Primary School in the 1970s we would be sent outside for our breaks. Sheltering from the drizzle beneath the playground crabapple tree we would play Tiggy.

To play we would first work out a plan. Like crows and jackdaws us kids squawked the rules of the game at each other. Still arguing when the bell rang, the game remained unplayed. On lunch-break we played only to stop and rehash the rules until we gave up and played marbles.

A few years later I made friends with Paul, a boy up the road. Paul was mostly clever and sometimes annoying. For a time he gave me the nickname, ‘Broody’. He was also (self evidently) quite observant. Apt.

A lifetime of plans have worked out and dreams have come true. I am a lucky fellow. Yet, some dreams obstinately remain out of reach. The dreams wash against plans and get wrecked on the rocks of sensibilities.

I suppose I am overthinking it.
Damn you Paul.


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