I don’t believe in five-year plans. Who knows what they’ll be doing or where they’ll be doing it in one year, let alone five? You’re essentially making a promise you don’t know if you’ll be able to keep, so why create this painfully realistic or exaggerated concept of who or what you will become?
The worst is when someone you barely know (i.e. a recruiter or extended family member) asks you what your five-year plan is, like you’re supposed to automatically divulge your deepest hopes and dreams. The person asking already knows you’re going to skirt the truth, and will inevitably end up listening to whatever bullshit answer corresponds to your respective field or career path. “Drunk on a beach with no child support to pay” may be the ultimate goal, but not when you’re interviewing for an elevated position. That still falls so, so far below the caliber of your education.
Because 2014 is all about shedding the lies perpetuating the internet, I thought I’d give a few of my truthful five-year plans, because apathy.
The Southern Retreat
After coming into some of the Solomon oil money (Mom accidentally hits an oil geyser while extending the front yard’s flower beds in late 2014), I take off for the South where I do nothing but systematically enjoy and then burn back issues of Real Simple and wear large hats. Eight months later, I’m run out of town for repeatedly showing up to the local college’s men’s lacrosse tournaments and serving alcohol to minors when they were supposed to be concentrating on playing the game.
The Maine Cottage
After nearly getting trampled at a polo match, the offending French player visits me at the hospital where he is taken by my ability to pepper my speech with a wide selection of profanity.
He quickly proposes based on a mixture of guilt, desire to become an American citizen and my tendency to “look the other way.” Enamored with J. Crew and L.L. Bean marketing and the lifestyle he associates with it, Renard purchases a large cabin in Maine where he proceeds to do nothing but wear plaid and split logs. Confused by the lack of catharsis an entire wardrobe of selvedge denim and Bean Boots has brought him, he jets off to Europe and I have an in-ground jacuzzi installed in mourning.
Become Bill Murray
If you *believe* hard enough, anything is possible.
Play With Farm Animals And Drink Gin
With nothing but trunks full of books, gin, dresses and jewelry to weigh me down (the rest of my stuff will obviously be flown in and assembled by local, polite and shirtless farm boys), I blow my hidden trust fund I discover in early 2015 on a house in the English countryside.
When my precious time is not taken up by day drinking, reading and playing with the various chickens, sheep, goats and alpacas that roam the yard like precocious children (that don’t need to be sent to expensive private universities), I’ll take care of the sprawling lands that make up the estate. Which will mostly involve my attempting to recreate the final scene of the 2010 cinematic rendition of Pride and Prejudice when Keira Knightley happens upon Mr. Darcy during her morning walk in the fields.
I will also take on philanthropic work, and teach the local street urchins how to harness the power of social media for their own gain – a.k.a. letting them watch me swipe left on Tinder. Clearly they’ll have to take turns watching over my shoulder, because it’s not like any of them could afford smart phones anyway.