Credit: Brian0918 on Wikimedia via Creative Commons

Credit: Brian0918 on Wikimedia via Creative Commons

I have written before about how much I love the new year. I’m a sucker for symbolism, so the sight of a new calendar on the wall fills me with a sense of fresh starts and renewed possibility. You cynics can tell me ’til you’re blue in the face that June 13th is just as good a day to begin again; it just doesn’t feel the same. I’ll never be accused of being overly motivated, so anything that jump starts my ability to live a little differently is welcome. I’ve had the conversations about resolutions being pointless, having themes for the year instead (or just resigning yourself to failure before you bother to begin), and I just don’t care.

As I’ve spent time the past few weeks thinking through ways I want to live differently in 2014, a truly foreign experience has presented itself. I realized I’ve actually met or exceeded a few of my goals from last year. Understand that I have never met a single goal I’ve set. Ever. Ever ever. This reality is part of the reason I dream so big when setting my goals; if they are all pipe dreams anyway then I might as well dream away. And before you tell me that this kind of thinking is unrealistic, that these aren’t exactly goals since goals should be attainable. That’s fine. But suddenly I have concrete, irrefutable proof that I accomplished things I set out to a year ago. This blog is one of those evidences. So now I am facing some of the goals that have made the list every year of my adult life, and there’s this weird stirring inside that is trying to convince me that this really could actually be the year they are met and stricken from the list once and for all. I think some people might call that stirring “hope.”

I’ve a tendency to quit on myself. I am expertly versed in all my failures, weaknesses, and character flaws. True confession: when someone asks me to name positive things about myself, I draw a complete and utter blank. Now this isn’t a cry for affirmations, but a statement to how deeply ingrained is my sense of failure before I begin something new. That sense of failure is being challenged, though, by these little bitty accomplishments.

Maybe I’ll attack these lifelong challenges and will make zero advance on them in 2014. But maybe, just maybe, next year’s list will require me to be a bit more creative since my go-to goals no longer will make the cut. Happy New Year!


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