A Vote For Spontaneity

Julie McGue

Author

I’m one of those gals that enjoy not only having a sense of the day’s activities, but a full grasp on the exact timing and locations involved. This propensity to be over-organized could be a holdover from parenting four children involved in nine different sports, and a myriad of other activities. Before I switched to the calendar on my cell phone, I maintained an oversized color-coded monthly desk calendar. I credit that vibrant calendar to having never misplaced a kid, forgotten a carpool or neglected my turn as treat mom. My obsession with scheduling is probably an innate trait. Reining it in is problematic.

Spontaneity makes me edgy, uncomfortable in the same way as too much caffeine or balancing my checkbook. I adore dinner reservations (I’m in the top 1% of Open Table users) and scheduling out vacations and airfare well in advance. I believe in grab bags, pulling names for holiday gifts, and assigning potluck dishes for family gatherings. My family has come to count on me to spearhead these tasks. Going-with-the-flow is a trait I admire in friends and acquaintances. I know this label does not look good on me.

Earlier this month, my husband and I boarded a flight for an Italian vacation inked eighteen months ago. Changing planes in Munich, we had a tight connection to Milan. Passport control had a serpentine line that got my toe tapping. Yanking up my shirtsleeve to check my watch every minute, I also debated edging to the front of the queue. Twenty minutes to spare, we hustled to the gate for boarding only to discover there’d been a gate change which involved a train to a different terminal. Sucking in air and stifling curses, we were the last folks seated on the aircraft.

Mid-morning, we had been up nearly twenty-fours and caught a break with an early hotel check-in near Milan’s shopping district. We nabbed a few hours of sleep then cruised the gallerias towards the city center. Being Sunday, I wanted to make an appearance at the Duomo, the Cathedral at the heart of Milan. We entered the nave to find Mass in full swing, but in Italian. What luck. Exiting a different door than where we entered, we faced swarms of people pouring into the piazza.

Scaffolding and a makeshift stage dwarfed the face of the adjacent museum. Banners for a Live Italia Radio concert hung about the square. On the street corners, entrepreneurs hawked gelato and salty snacks. People were stacked on the Duomo steps, hanging off balconies on nearby buildings, and thickened the access to outdoor cafes. Everywhere, the scent of fresh baked pizza lured us to dine, but each café we entered had huge wait times. Our final stop, a trattoria overlooking the concert stage, had a table free up just as we walked in. Ushered to a linen-clothed table for two in a corner with a clear shot of the stage, my husband smirked. No reservations needed, his look seemed to say.

About halfway into a decadent cheesy eggplant dip, cheers rolled through the crowd. Enormous teletrons flashed the likeness of a singer I follow.

“Hey, I think that’s Sting,” I said to my husband.

“You’re just jet-lagged,” he said. I reached for my purse.

In contrast to the manner in which the day had begun, racing for flights and battling jetlag, the evening was unfolding with ease and pleasure. The two of us had serendipitously exited the Duomo into this piazza where a concert was staged; we found a café with an open table and an unobstructed view of the stage and its monitors. How could we be so fortunate when most of these folks had probably had this event on their calendars for months? I launched the search engine on my phone.

“Yep, that’s him. See?” I held out my phone. Sting was due to play in Milan, tonight.

“Well, how about that?” my husband gleamed. “Just goes to show that being spontaneous can work out better than planning ahead. Sometimes.” I ignored his barb at my propensity to over think and over organize.

How could I argue, when he was right? I smiled, lifted my beer as a toast to Sting and Milan, and joined the crowd in chanting the lyrics to “I’ll Be Watching You”.

Yep, I’m a believer. Spontaneity gets my vote (at least while I’m touring Italy that is).

“How could we be so fortunate when most of these folks had probably had this event on their calendars for months?”

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