When I was little, there was someone I idolized. She was brilliant, and I loved her. She was always full of grandiose ideas. She always made plans — we’ll make Christmas cookies, complete with edible silver dragees; we’ll go for sushi at the place where her friend works; we’ll go see you in your high school play. Some of the ideas I knew would never come true — that wasn’t even really the point of them — tours around California, for example — these wonderful, brilliant plans that I knew weren’t real, but I couldn’t help but get swept up in her enthusiasm, imagining just for a moment how incredible it would be if they were true. Some of them . . . some of them I really thought were meant as promises, not just building castles in the air — those were the ones that really hurt when nothing ever happened.
Did I sometimes wish that she wouldn’t have shared this ideas, that she would have simply kept quiet if she never meant to follow through with her promises? Absolutely. And yet, I wouldn’t have changed it. I wouldn’t have given up that hope that maybe this time would be different, maybe this time she really meant it. Still, it taught me something, taught me to be a little less trusting, perhaps. I grew up.
Still, I don’t want to be like that, and I know I’ve done it far too many times. I never meant harm; things simply got out of my control. I’ve made so many plans with friends that never went anywhere — going to jazz clubs in New York, cocktail parties in our dorm rooms, trips to chocolate shops, Hair on Broadway, the Ani concert, LotR marathons. My plans were always sincere; I simply ran out of time.
I’m resolving to stop that, to the best of my ability. I want to keep my plans, keep my promises. I don’t want to be the person who forces people to grow up, to become a little more disillusioned, a little more jaded. I now generally assume that people aren’t intending to follow through with plans they make; I don’t want to be the reason why someone else does the same.