When Plans Fall Apart (and Something Better Takes Their Place)
- Mar 29
- 4 min read
Sometimes life doesn’t follow the plan we carefully mapped out.
This spring break story is about what happened when everything shifted—and what quietly took its place.
Often I think my life is on repeat.
Make a plan. Hit a wall. Shift. Take the next step…
Even the weather feels that way.
The calendar turns to April tomorrow, but here in West Michigan, old man winter is still the boss.
A handful of robins have returned, puffed up against the wind, their feathers ruffled as they try to hold their ground.And I feel the same.
Where is spring when you need its warmth and glimmer?
Days like this can make you wonder what season you’re really in.
I’m still tugging on my wool coat…still looking for the missing mitten…two weeks after the official first day of spring.
And it reminds me of a spring break years ago—the year we were supposed to go skiing.
It was the first real vacation we’d planned after opening the gallery.
A true family effort.
The boys helped with everything—unpacking inventory, hauling trash, mopping floors.
No job too small for two growing boys who once drooled over $100 Nike shoes we couldn’t afford in those early years.
But after a while, the business found its footing.
And this trip?This was our celebration.
We packed the van with skis, boots, snow pants, goggles… all of it.
Headed north for the kind of slopes our little rope tow hill could never offer.
Mile-long runs.Quad chairs.
Black diamonds for my thrill-seeking boys.
I pictured heaps of snow from a long Michigan winter.
But as I backed out of the driveway, I heard it—a crunch.
Gravel.
Where had all the snow gone?
I brushed it off.
Until mile after mile passed…and all we saw was mud and dead grass.
Then a ping.
“Mom… Cannonsburg is closed. No snow in Grand Rapids.”
“We’ll drive farther north,” I said.
Caberfae—Cadillac closed.
Nubs Nob— Petosky closed.
Snow in Canada… nine hours away. Too far for this 3-day trip.
We’d burn all our ski time being in the car.
Not skiing today.
Not tomorrow.
Not this trip.
It felt like a punch to the stomach.
And I could feel it building in the boys, too.
A heavy sigh from the back seat.
Then another.
Then the bickering.
“You should’ve checked the weather.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You said it would be cold!”
“When do you ever listen to me?”
I took the next exit.
The van went quiet.
They knew.
It’s never a good sign when Mom leaves the highway.
I turned toward them, my eyes hidden behind sunglasses that shielded the bright and hot sun seeping through the van window.
Leaving my raised eyebrows to send the message.
The fighting stopped.
But inside, I was scrambling.
What now?
Then a word floated back to me—something I’d heard just the day before.
“Brian… type in: French Lick.”
He paused. Then:
“Mom…”“It’s the home of Pete Dye. One of the greatest golf course designers.”
Seventy degrees.
Open course.
We turned the van around.
Back home just long enough to swap snow pants for shorts and collared shirts.
Another plan.
Another shift.
Three hours later, the sky darkened.
Wind. Rain. Wipers working overtime.
We were close—but not close enough.
So we pulled off again.
Another pause
.Another adjustment.
We waited out the storm over brawny burgers and slurpy milkshakes.
And when we finally arrived…
The rain had cleared.
The birds were singing.
And the course—luscious and green—was empty.
No one in front of us.No one behind us.
The boys hit two… three balls off every tee.
Laughing.
Competing.
Completely themselves again.
No, it wasn’t the ski trip we had planned.
But somehow…
it became exactly what we needed.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about that trip.
Because I’m starting to see how often life works this way.
Plans unravel.
Expectations fall apart.
And in the moment, it doesn’t feel like a reset.
It doesn’t feel like a fresh start.
It just feels like… adjusting.
And I’ve started to wonder:
What if meaningful change doesn’t come from a big overhaul?
No five-year plan.
No dramatic reinvention.
What if it comes from something smaller?
Lately, I’ve been calling it a 10% shift.
A slight turn.
A quiet decision.
A willingness to shift… just a little.
The more I look back, the more I see it everywhere.
In my path from nurse…to gallery owner…to full-time artist.
In conversations that changed direction.
In doors that opened just a crack.
In moments when I didn’t feel ready—but moved anyway.
I’m in one of those moments again now.
After 32 years of showing my work in downtown Holland, and the gallery presently carrying my art is closing.
And I don’t yet know what comes next.
But I think about that trip.
How certain I was of the plan.
How quickly it disappeared.
And how something unexpected met us on the other side.
Maybe change doesn’t arrive all at once.
Maybe it happens in smaller ways.
A shift.
A turn.
A step you almost don’t notice while you’re taking it.
And maybe, if you stay with it long enough…
You hear the birds again.
And you realize—you’ve arrived somewhere new.
If you’ve ever found yourself in a moment where the plan didn’t work…but something meaningful still emerged—
you’ll recognize this idea.
It’s something I explore more deeply in my book, The 10% Shift
These kinds of moments—the unexpected turns, the quiet adjustments—became the heart of The 10% Shift. If this story felt familiar, you can learn more, click here.
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