Living life with a Plan B in mind

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Outrun a train. Outsmart a cow. Make a plan, any plan, to get by. Games I played as a child were all about survival.Isn't that what life is about?When I was 7, my family and I lived in a cinderblock house beset on all sides by hazards.In front, a major highway rumbled like thunder with logging trucks and big rigs hurrying to and from the mills.In back, 50 yards from my bedroom, the Southern Pacific Railroad ran its cars, clickety-clack, along a rickety track.And on either side of the house, in a symbiotic irony of beauty and beasts, an apple orchard afforded pasture for some of the surliest creatures that God ever gave an udder.All things considered, it was the cows that scared me most.The games were simple.When I heard a train in the distance, I'd run to the back yard and race with all my might alongside the engine to try to beat it to the end of the yard.I never won. Not once. I was 12 when I finally quit trying.The highway was easy. I just stood there pumping my fist to get the truckers to honk. If they honked, I won. If they didn't, I lost. I won every time.The cows were a bit more of a challenge. I had to get past them to get to the apples, which the cows seemed to think they owned. Picture an NFL quarterback slicing across a field of 2-ton, four-legged, slobbery-tongued tackles.I don't know about you, but I tend to run a lot faster when I'm terrified. What I lacked in speed, I made up in motivation. My mother could turn a few wormy apples into the best cobbler I ever put in my mouth. The cows didn't stand a chance.But my favorite game in growing up was something I called "This is what I will do then," or for short, "Plan B."It worked like this. Take any situation, say, a math test in school; a boy I had a crush on; or a fight between my mother and my stepfather.For each of such things, I'd devise a "Plan B" -- a detailed, alternate plan of action -- so if things didn't turn out quite as I'd hoped, I didn't need to worry because I knew "this is what I will do then."If, for example, I didn't pass the math test and failed to get a scholarship to pay my way to college, I could always get a job at the Piggly Wiggly and somehow I would be just fine.If the boy I liked didn't like me, I could grow up to be a movie star and offer him my autograph at the class reunion and, again, I would be just fine.Of if the fighting between my mother and my stepfather grew to be more than I could bear, I could go live with my dad, or my grandmother, or one of my aunts -- one that I could stand -- and yes, I would be just fine.If you have a "Plan B," you never need to worry. You will always know what to do, and you will always be just fine.It will never make Olympic competition, but it helped me survive the trials of childhood.I don't chase trains or dodge cows or get truckers to honk at me anymore. OK, maybe on occasion I can't resist pumping my fist at a passing big rig.But I play "Plan B" every day, all the time. I tried to explain it recently to a friend who had a few misgivings about a pretty big decision."What you need," I said, "is a Plan B. Imagine what you'll do if the decision doesn't work out. And while you're at it, you might as well imagine big."The best thing about a Plan B is you'll probably never need to use it. But it helps, somehow, just to know that it's there.What's your "Plan B"? Put it under your pillow. Maybe you will sleep a little better tonight.(Sharon Randall can be contacted at PO. Box 777394, Henderson NV 89052 or at randallbay(at)earthlink.net.)