I used to think having a plan meant I was prepared.

Know where you’re going.

Know what you’re doing.

Know what comes next.

Have the backup plan ready just in case the first plan doesn’t work.

There is wisdom in planning.

Bills need budgets.

Trips need reservations.

Goals need direction.

Dreams usually require some kind of action.

But somewhere along the way, I’ve learned something else:

Not everything beautiful in life arrives according to plan.

Some things simply…

show up.

We spend a lot of time trying to predict our lives.

Where will I be next year?

Will this work?

Will I meet someone?

Will I ever get the opportunity?

Will the dream happen?

What if I make the wrong decision?

What if things don’t turn out the way I hoped?

We try to solve tomorrow before tomorrow gets here.

And maybe that’s because uncertainty makes us uncomfortable.

A plan gives us the illusion that we know what’s coming.

But life has never been particularly interested in our plans.

Sometimes it looks at the itinerary we carefully prepared and says:

“That’s cute.”

Then takes us somewhere else entirely.

Think about some of the best things that have happened to you.

How many were actually planned?

The friend you met accidentally.

The conversation you almost didn’t have.

The opportunity you weren’t looking for.

The place you visited and unexpectedly fell in love with.

The hobby that became a passion.

The person who entered your life through circumstances you could never have arranged.

The idea that arrived while you were doing something completely unrelated.

Sometimes life changes because we pursued something.

And sometimes life changes because something found us.

That’s why I think we need to leave a little room.

Room in the calendar.

Room in our expectations.

Room in our definition of success.

Room in our picture of what happiness is supposed to look like.

Room for a different answer.

Room for a new dream.

Room for something we haven’t even thought to ask for yet.

Because sometimes we become so committed to the picture in our heads that we don’t recognize something beautiful simply because it arrived in a different frame.

Maybe you don’t know everything you’re going to want yet.

I love that thought.

We assume our future desires will simply be extensions of our current ones.

But think about everything you love today that an earlier version of you knew nothing about.

People you hadn’t met.

Foods you hadn’t tasted.

Places you hadn’t visited.

Songs that hadn’t been written.

Technology that didn’t exist.

Things you hadn’t learned.

Parts of yourself you hadn’t discovered.

There was a time when some of the things that now make your life meaningful…

weren’t even on your radar.

So why do we assume we already know everything our future will contain?

Maybe there are joys you don’t know to anticipate.

That’s different from saying everything will work out perfectly.

It won’t.

Life will still disappoint us.

Plans will fail.

People will leave.

Some prayers will be answered differently than we hoped.

Some chapters will be harder than we expected.

Leaving room for surprise isn’t pretending life is a fairy tale.

It’s simply refusing to believe that because you cannot currently see something good coming…

nothing good can come.

There’s a difference.

Sometimes hope doesn’t need a specific outcome.

We often attach hope to something.

I hope I get the job.

I hope I meet the person.

I hope the house works out.

I hope this opportunity happens.

But maybe there’s another kind of hope.

The kind that simply says:

“I don’t know what’s ahead, but I’m curious.”

I like that kind.

It doesn’t demand that life follow instructions.

It doesn’t require certainty.

It doesn’t pretend disappointment isn’t possible.

It simply keeps the door cracked open.

And perhaps that’s one of the gifts of getting older.

You stop needing every answer immediately.

At least…

we’re supposed to.

You begin understanding how many times life has already surprised you.

Things you worried about that worked themselves out.

Things you desperately wanted that you’re now grateful you didn’t receive.

Detours that introduced you to something better suited for who you became.

Endings that eventually created space.

Beginnings you never saw coming.

You look backward and realize:

I couldn’t have planned all of this if I’d tried.

So maybe we can loosen our grip on tomorrow a little.

Not abandon responsibility.

Not stop dreaming.

Not stop preparing.

Just stop demanding that life reveal the entire route before we’re willing to enjoy the drive.

Leave one chair empty.

Figuratively.

Leave room at the table for something unexpected.

A new friendship.

A new idea.

A different opportunity.

A place you’ve never considered.

A version of yourself you haven’t met.

A dream that doesn’t exist yet.

Maybe even…

that house by the lake with the enormous back porch where you sit and watch the sun go down.

Because listen…

we’re leaving room for specific surprises too.

You haven’t seen everything yet.

I think that’s what I want us to remember.

You haven’t laughed your last big laugh.

You haven’t seen your last beautiful sunset.

You haven’t met everyone who will matter to you.

You haven’t written everything you’re capable of writing.

You haven’t learned everything life will teach you.

You haven’t experienced every moment that will someday become one of your favorite memories.

There is still something ahead that you don’t know about.

Maybe something small.

Maybe something enormous.

Maybe something that changes everything.

We don’t know.

And perhaps…

not knowing doesn’t always have to be frightening.

Sometimes not knowing is where possibility lives.

So make your plans.

Set your goals.

Write down your dreams.

Prepare.

Work.

Build.

Pray.

But somewhere between the calendar and the vision board…

leave a little blank space.

Because life may have something to write there that you haven’t thought of yet.

And wouldn’t it be something…

if one day you looked around at a life you never could have planned and thought:

I didn’t see this coming.

But I’m so glad it came.