Blog #12 Not Everything Needs A Plan

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March 1, 2026

I’ve never been one to wait, never needed permission to go somewhere or do something just because no one else could come along; movement is simply how I’m wired.

When my cat Sophie died, something shifted quietly inside me. Grief didn’t hit me like a wave; it was a gentle insistence that I slow down, that I step back and simply breathe for a moment.

In six months I will turn sixty-five, and I realized that I needed to begin planning. I made a few calls, and the trip slowly began to take shape. I had been working hard since the beginning of the year with a branding specialist, and in the midst of it all, I was writing a third book. Yet Sophie’s death had pressed the brakes hard, reminding me that creativity can only expand when we take the time to refill ourselves.

Hiking alone was not enough; what I needed wasn’t a plan, a retreat, a deadline, or a pep talk. I needed a drive, a day that could simply unfold. So I drove to Damascus, walked into Damascus Diner, and ordered the big, messy meatloaf sandwich with french fries. Not a typical part of my healthy diet, but it was delicisous!

I then visited some of the hiking stores, and learned about some local hiking trails—Grayson Highlands State Park, and the Channels. I was excited to add two new place on my list to explore.

Later, at Backbone State Park, the cliffs were steeper than I had imagined, and I made the easy choice not to push myself; I wandered, took photographs, and allowed the drive home to be slow and unhurried, recognizing that the day’s purpose was simply to be, and that letting it unfold without expectation was exactly what it needed to do.

And as I drove, something inside me loosened. Grief, I realized, does not always knock us flat; sometimes it quietly dims the edges of our world, softens the light, and makes even the work we love feel as though it deserves space, a pause, a gentle reprieve. The antidote, at least for me, was not pushing through but stepping sideways—into somewhere unfamiliar, into a day without expectations, into a simple rhythm of presence.

I came home ready to return to my book, not with pressure or urgency, but with a quiet, insistent hum of purpose and curiosity. Sometimes, I realize, is that this it all it takes. No grand gestures, no reinvention—just a new road, a good sandwich, and the willingness to let a day surprise you.

Lisa Bromfield

Transformational Life Guide

Inspirational Speaker

Author