It’s that time again – at least my daily calendar/planner says so. It’s time to purchase next year’s version. And there lies the rub.

Planners and calendars … whatever you call them are pure paper seduction for me. I love them … too much. Realistically I need a smallish daily calendar that will fit in my purse. It should have enough space for me to note times, places and reasons. As a now-veteran retiree, my calendar needs far less doodads than I thought I needed.

Let me explain. Planners promise. They promise organization, a lowering of stress, world peace and better hair … they are, in that promise, a non-medical solution to too much cortisol, to sleepless nights, chewed fingernails, missed opportunities and the fact that nothing fits. And I believed them. In some ways and on some days I still do.

When I was teaching I really didn’t need a calendar much beyond the wall calendar that the school sends out each year. I noted any upcoming events and appointments on those little boxes surrounding each day of the month. I’ve saved them. My favorite was 1970-71, after I had taken a leave of absence. It was the year that my son was born. All of the little squares were filled with activities, most of which related to an organization to which I belonged, the Jaycees. That year we were sponsoring and executing the hosting of a group of European teachers who came here to learn about American culture. There was a break after June 13 for six months where there are no entries. During those months I found out how any kind of calendar fails, becomes mostly irrelevant, when you are a neophyte parent.

But I still believed that a well thought out planner would help me get my life in order. I lusted after the big ones, the gargantuan tomes that required a tote bag for transport. I saw accomplished women with them, their pages stuffed with clipped on notes, tabbed sections with stickers that reminded you to purchase a gift or attend an event. They had pockets and rulers and jeweled reminder bookmarks. Oh, how I admired them.

But they were pricey and ultimately time consuming. Some even required taking a week-long course in how to effectively use them.

I mostly bought my calendars elsewhere, trying to find just the right size, cover and “extras” at the right price to meet my needs. Like the wall calendars, I’ve stashed all of my book calendars in my desk’s lower drawers. One stands out because … and I don’t know where I bought this … its cover is a bright green flower-bedecked silk. It was small, very easily fitting in my purse. A lot of interesting things happened that year. I wonder if the calendar’s panache had anything to do with that. It smelled like cedar too. Why? I have no idea.

This time around, I am bombarded with offers of magical planners on my Facebook feed. Just about every purveyor has their version of a life fixer. Amazon’s listing is gargantuan. Even Starbucks has a planner for sale. One of these is particularly enticing. I scrolled by the others, but this one … produced by a company not particularly known for planners, this one is a subscription service that sends you a monthly booklet with graphics that help you forge ahead into a future that you have organized on its pages. There is a page for tracking habits that you want to develop or retain, one on which you fill in vividly distinctive boxes that describe who you are, goal setting pages for the day, the week, the month and eternity. The publisher promises that it will get to know your needs and “curate” each coming month’s booklet to your needs. Oh, my gosh, that is like having a live-in personal assistant. And the publisher promises that your involvement in this planner’s goals will only take five minutes a day. One user gushes,” It’s changed my life and led me to self-care, inspiration, and creativity.”

Really?

It costs $25 a month. If it worked, that would be a bargain. But I remember how many of my past planner indiscretions demonstrated how little I actually used their organizing methodology. It’s like those two baby books that I started out with gusto and frittered out with exhaustion. I have a box of stickers, a page marker, a ruler and assorted other extras from failed planners of the past.

And … this one has an app. Yes, an app, where you can congregate with others who have succumbed to its spell. I read an entry on Facebook by a former adherent who judiciously purchased a year’s subscription, but who asked for her money back when she felt ostracized by people who came together on this app.

My husband bought a new electric razor last week and it too has an app. I’d better check that out. Could be trouble ahead there.

So, this year, I will cruise the aisles at Walmart to find just the right size planner; one that looks pretty and folds flat on the table.

There is one thing that all of these planners, calendars, etc. lack. There is no provision, no cute graphics for procrastination, a way to acknowledge that my lists are most probably aspirational and should be examined for a more realistic posting.

Some people use their planners to save their souls. Mine are, at best, reminders of doctor appointments when the car needs inspection, an anniversary date or two and lists of things that I want to do. Things that may never get done. At my age, plunging ahead into the mists of the future is best done abstemiously. Getting from one day to the other should be done with the caution that, if nothing else, we do know what is inevitable. Teddy Roosevelt’s quote fits may planner ideal:

“Do the best you can with what you have and where you are.”