“Best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

That line from John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men has lived in my vocabulary for as long as I can remember. It was inspired from a poem by Robert Burns, about a mouse whose carefully built nest is destroyed by a farmer’s plow — a small reminder that no matter how thoughtfully we plan, life has its own ideas. Somewhere along the way, I balanced Steinbeck’s wisdom with another book that has stayed with me since high school, Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Frankl survived unimaginable suffering by holding onto hope for a future — a belief that what came next still mattered, even when the present was unbearable.

Somewhere between Steinbeck’s plans going awry and Frankl’s stubborn hope, I began to realize that maybe it isn’t the plans themselves that carry us through life… but the way we learn to live when those plans begin to change.

That lesson followed us onto the road one morning as we left Bakersfield, towing our trailer and aiming for Tehachapi. If the truck handled the climb well, we planned to keep going and set a new goal for the night — maybe all the way to Kingman, Az. It was still dark when I woke at 4:00 a.m., unable to sleep, a mix of excitement and uncertainty already stirring. Bill wasn’t far behind. By 7:45, we had eaten, packed, and were on our way.

Traffic was light, the climb came easier than expected, and the truck performed beautifully. Encouraged, we decided to keep going. Still, one small detail lingered in the back of our minds — a radiator hose that probably should have been replaced at our last tune-up. The mechanic had said it looked fine, though the clamp seemed a little loose. He tightened it and sent us on our way.

Highway 40 toward Barstow stretched out long and straight, familiar and quiet. The desert is still beautiful, but after so many trips over a lifetime, the landmarks blur together — the airplane parking lot outside Mojave, the Boron Mine, and Kramer Junction, with the old four-way stop, where travels on the overpass flash in a blink of an eye. But one place we did want to stop again, was the Bagdad Cafe.

The first time we visited, it had been packed, buses unloading tourists in steady rotation. The cafe has drifted in and out of fame over the years, most recently made famous again by the film Bagdad Cafe and its devoted following. This time our visit was different. Only one or two cars pulled in while we were there. “Tourist season” had ended. As former teachers, traveling during the school year had almost never been possible, and standing there in the quiet felt strangely wonderful. No crowds. No schedules. No being ushered along to the next attraction. We loved it.

If you’re curious about the Bagdad Cafe, William wrote about its history and our visit in more detail on his blog. You can read it here. (Bagdad Cafe Blog: The Mythic Cafe of the Mohave)

But as the miles continued, that radiator hose stayed in our thoughts. A blown hose out here wouldn’t mean simply being late — it could mean being stranded in the middle of the desert, trailer in tow, far from help. Not long after leaving the cafe, we made a quiet decision. Instead of pressing on toward Kingman as planned, we stopped early in Needles, Ca, found an auto parts store, and William replaced it before it had the chance to make the decision for us.

Years ago, we would have pushed through. Stuck to the plan. Trusted that everything would hold. This time, we didn’t have to.

It struck me then how much this season of life has changed the way we plan. For years, responsibility ruled everything — the house, the animals, the projects waiting at home. Now, with the calendar finally our own, the road feels open in a way it never did before. If we want to stop, we can. If plans need to change, that isn’t failure — it’s wisdom. For the first time, we were free to make plans, free to change them, and free to choose common sense and peace over rigid determination by pushing our luck.

“Best laid plans of mice and men often go awry”.

But what if you reach a point in your life where plans don’t matter quite so much anymore? Where you simply go where your heart — and a little common sense — leads you. ......Do things still go awry?

Reflecting and Moving Forward

• Flexibility can be one of the greatest gifts of this season of life — allowing us to choose peace over stubborn determination.
  

• Freedom doesn’t mean living without plans, but having the grace to change them when life asks us to.
  

• Have you ever looked back and realized that changing your plans was the very thing that quietly led you somewhere better?
  
  Do plans really matter that much? For me, not if they cost us our well-being.

The Freedom Hidden Inside Changing Plans

“The gift isn’t the plan — it’s the freedom to change it,

and the wisdom to know when to let it go.”