5 Yr plan

Midway through last year, I did something that was completely contradictory to the way I’ve lived my life up until this point. I’ve always had a tomorrow isn’t promised, live for today mentality. Probably just another bullshit way of justifying my toxic relationship with alcohol and other pursuits I knew weren’t good for me but didn’t want to stop. As with everything in life it took me a long time to see through my own bullshit and adopt a more positive lifestyle.

I’m sure my ex-partner will be livid if she ever reads what I’m about to write. She wanted us to plan for a future together, to visualise what our lives could look like in five years’ time. Naturally, that scared the shit out of me, so I did what I always do and came out with some bullshit line like, “you can’t plan for the future because there is no future — all we have is the here and now.” At the time, I couldn’t see that what she was asking for wasn’t pressure — it was reassurance.

And while I fundamentally do believe that all that statement really achieved is this: I’m now planning for my future alone. But planning, nonetheless. I often wonder what my life would be like if I engaged my brain before opening my mouth. One of my strong beliefs is accountability, own your shit. I know full well when I have fucked up and said things I’m not happy with, hurtful things that I don’t mean, and I would swallow them back up if it were possible. My mother once said this and it has stuck with me, if you could see yourself when you’ve had a drink you would be embarrassed. When I lose my head it’s the same as being blackout I don’t know what I’m saying or how I’m acting but when I come round, I get this uncontrollable anxiety, this dirty feeling like the hangexiety you get after finally waking the day after getting fucked up. Thank Christ I can’t remember those moments.

Shortly after the breakup, I decided to create a five-year plan. If I must do it alone, then so be it. As my mother would say, “you’ve made your bed, now lie in it.” A saying I’ve become painfully acquainted with throughout my life.

So how am I going to go about this plan? I started by envisioning three places I’d most like to live — realistic places, at least in my head. Although I’m not entirely sure anything going on in my head is realistic.

How will I get to these places? I started listing the things I’d need to achieve to potentially get there: career options (which made me feel sick), what I’d have to accomplish, and the non-negotiable actions I must take. I really enjoyed creating the spreadsheet — it pleased my autistic brain. The possibilities. The targets. The words I’ll get to emphasise and highlight once I’ve achieved things. I found it motivating, another special interest to add to my ever-expanding list. Are we allowed more than one? I don’t know, I’ll have to consult the autism police.

Naturally, I over-researched it. I opened a can of worms. There’s a whole industry built around five-year plans that I was unaware of — life coaches, business coaches, courses, studies, and endless YouTube videos — all promising clarity if you just buy in. If I’m honest, it nearly put me off entirely.

So, I did what I should have done from the start. I watched a handful of videos, ignored most of them, and took one idea that stuck: the only reason to make a five-year plan is to work out what you should be doing now. It’s not a prediction. It’s a filter. It forces you to prioritise the actions you take in the present, so future Tadhg has a fighting chance.

I listened to H2O a lot around the breakup in late June, because I desperately needed positive energy. As best I can, I live by the PMA (positive mental attitude) philosophy that Toby Morse from H20 champions in both his lyrics and his lifestyle.

Although, on the 29th of June, sitting at Tunbridge Wells train station trying to piece together the events that had led to me being there on a Sunday evening, overloaded with possessions, I had zero positive energy. I remember waiting for the train on the platform when two trains pulled in at once. In that moment, I realised I was on the wrong platform. I chastised myself — no one does it better, especially in these moments. I kick myself when I’m down more effectively than anyone ever could. I trundled over to the other platform, then convinced myself I’d originally been on the correct one and shuffled back again, only to realise I was wrong. Again. My brain had seemingly shut down. Another hour sat in my misery in the sweltering summer heat. Fantastic.

Here I sit alone and in despair
You know the world outside is cold, alone and unfair
No motivation, no college degree
Day to day survival’s starting to worry me
No goals, no money, no inspiration
My crew tattoos, that’s my only salvation.

These words embodied exactly how I felt. I could have written them myself. The song became my mantra for that period of my life. So, I got tattooed — a lot — and started a new band. I also started writing more. I have a degree in journalism; you’d never know it, because I’ve done fuck all with it. It’s been nearly five years since I got that degree. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Getting a degree is the single biggest achievement of my life thus far. However, I’ve never really given myself credit for it. I remember the email I received from my uni — it was entitled Award Confirmation or something like that. Even then, I didn’t believe I’d got a degree. I was genuinely scared to open the email, praying I’d at least scraped a 2:1. I knew anything less would be considered a failure by certain factions of my family. Which is ironic, because none of them went to university, let alone got a degree.

I opened the email and there it was, in writing: I’d received first-class honours. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never got a first in anything in my life. I’m more of a second- or third kind-of-guy — tried hard, came up short. That’s me. When pitching my dissertation idea my tutor told me my idea was rubbish and advised me to come up with something more original. Of course, I didn’t listen and wrote it anyway — because I’m a stubborn bastard. I received no help, and no direction. We had three months to write the dissertation. I locked myself away in my room and wrote it in one month, doing nothing but writing and running every day. When I finished, I thought it was shit and hoped the strength of my essays would carry me through.

To say that even going to university — let alone getting a degree — wasn’t possible for someone like me felt like a fair statement. I left school with no qualifications. I’m diagnosed dyslexic, dyspraxic, and autistic. None of these are excuses, because I did fuck all work at school. In fact, I actively rebelled against anything to do with it. I have no one to blame but myself. Little did I know I was only hurting myself. That reality hit me square in the face later. In fact, it kept knocking me to the floor throughout my twenties, until I eventually got a degree aged 31.

I think what I’m trying to say is that writing a five-year plan saved my sanity. I realised it’s really about your actions in the here and now — how you can tailor them towards the goals you want to achieve in the future. And even if things don’t go to plan (which, invariably, they won’t), you still have direction. You still have a plan.

It’s all part of the journey, right?