While I’m slowly but surely on the mend, I’ve had a lot of alone time in between long sleeps and tiny chores around my apartment to think about the upcoming year and some of my goals. What’s been swirling in my head is my move in mid-May, hopefully to a lovely one-bedroom close to my current apartment as I love my neighborhood. I think about the process of identifying this next home, of packing and moving, finally buying a larger, quality mattress without my Psycho-esque ident, redecorating to some extent. I think about eventually introducing a dog to the mix, but also the massive preparation needed in advance. How my life will change so completely. The challenges and the joy. I think about my writing, of bravely addressing the long-term goal of writing a novel or a short story collection that’s been brushed to the side like Cinderella because I was too busy building a career.
I think about sustaining and increasing my career success. Of really saving a big nest egg for myself to be able to purchase a home in the next few years. Of finally taking dating seriously and allowing myself to be vulnerable. Of being more consistent with my health, of moving every day in some way to assist with stress and depression management. I think about the way I want to be with others; more graceful, sympathetic, less judgmental. How I want to give back more so that I remember that my problems are valid, but there are others with more life-threatening ones.
I’m generally very excited about this next year. I have a lot to look forward to, but I need to remind myself that these goals do not need to be conquered all at once and it doesn’t mean I’m a failure if some of them don’t happen. Control has always been a “frenemy” of mine, a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it can be the guiding light and discipline to manifesting the future, but on the other hand, it can wreak havoc on self-esteem and steer oneself off course if it renders you utterly inflexible. There are so many things that we can’t control. Probably, the concept of control is in part, delusion.
Whatever happens next year, I have a framework of ambitions that I expect to accomplish, but who knows for sure. I hope that my thirties aren’t only spent climbing towards something. I hope I make a lot of stops along the way to rest and enjoy the present.
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