By the time January rolled around this year, my calendar for the first half of 2026 was quite busy. I looked at all the coloured squares and asked myself, had I overplanned?
To be fair, there was a major event about to happen mid-month: the Audi Revolut F1 team’s global unveiling in Berlin. I wasn’t originally planning to attend, but my motorsport and fintech-savvy colleagues quickly educated me on what a big deal this invitation was, so I RSVP’d to a day at Kraftwerk Berlin. Part of me was in it for the content and networking opportunities, but the other part had let FOMO triumph. Throughout my adult life, I’ve said yes to things because I feared regret if I sat them out. As a result, my schedule filled fast. I always look back on such busy periods with a sense of achievement, a “haven’t I tried it all?” kind of thinking. Meeting Audi Revolut F1 drivers is pretty cool, even if you don’t know much about the sport.
That kind of opportunity was only possible because my calendar still had a little breathing room. While I’d mapped out major commitments, I’d left some empty days. I prioritised what needed to go in first. Holidays are the clearest example. I’ve pencilled in Baku, Azerbaijan, for April 2026. Booking flights months ahead meant securing a great deal, and the long lead time gives me space to research neighbourhoods, plan itineraries, and decide where I want to eat the national dish, plov. Leave it too late, and you end up paying more to enjoy less.
The same logic applies to concerts, which are just a few days in the calendar. Wait too long, and you’re either fleeced by scalpers or stuck at the back of the arena. Raye’s February show at my local O2 venue sold out well before the New Year fireworks, but I’ve been a huge fan since before “Escapism.” went viral. K-pop fans know this better than anyone; I bought the band Twice tickets for June 2026 the moment they went on sale, eight months in advance in October 2025. Some festivals I intentionally leave open, like the annual BST Hyde Park in summer, because experience has taught me that more artists and dates get added later on. Even so, if you love live music, you don’t really “wing it.” You map your year.
And that’s before factoring in other people. Group chats start firing off “save the date” messages well before December ends. Birthdays, weddings, and reunions require busy adults to coordinate time off, travel, and money. Planning isn’t optional, but it’s the price of participation.
Planning months ahead gives shape to the future. It makes time feel like it’s moving towards something, rather than simply happening. It also comes at a cost, since once something is planned, it carries weight: expectation, obligation, and pressure. That’s why spontaneity has such a powerful cultural appeal. We treat it like a personality trait, that person who books flights on a whim, says yes without checking their calendar, and lets life surprise them. Planning, by contrast, has an image problem, even as more of us do it. Nearly 60 per cent of people book travel at least three months in advance. Plenty of us are planning six months or more ahead, like me, and that isn’t a bad thing.
Research shows that anticipation can be as pleasurable as the experience itself. The holiday doesn’t begin at the airport; it begins when you book it. Stressful workdays become more tolerable when you know what they’re leading to. Planning doesn’t compress joy, but instead stretches that joy across time.
I tell myself I plan because I’m organised and practical, because I want to save money and secure the best experiences when I want them. That’s true. But planning also gives me a sense of control in an otherwise unpredictable world.
Spontaneity, after all, often relies on privileges like flexible work, disposable income, free time, and minimal responsibilities. For many people, planning isn’t a preference. It’s the only way anything good happens at all. If you don’t plan those experiences, you may not have them at all.
Of course, balance matters. Planning works best when it provides structure without demanding certainty. You need some slack in the system and room for last-minute opportunities, like my January trip to Berlin. As this new year unfolds, I’ll keep planning. I’ll book the concerts and holidays that give me something to look forward to, sketching a future that feels hopeful and manageable. I’ll just try to loosen my grip a little to let surprises in, without inviting chaos
