This has been an interesting blog post to write because most people I know can attest to the fact that I have had a checkered past when it comes to my apparel choices. These poor decisions have been evidenced in the past when I described my style as one that makes me look like “an extra in a searing documentary on the mistreatment of Walmart towards its employees” or when I pointed out how much I used to favor “Wrangler jeans, [a] button-down rodeo shirt, and cowboy boots.” If those two quotes don’t make you realize how bad my style has been, you should probably find a personal stylist.
Did my title make you think that I’m back into running long distances? I am most definitely not (thank you, skiing in Washington, for the knee injury). Instead, I am referring to the sprint towards the end of my year of goals.
I seriously considered starting this with the lyrics to the 2009 song “When I Grow Up,” but I would like to believe that my readers are too highbrow to recognize that dated pop culture reference. The reason that I used a somewhat whimsical title is because I want to talk about the future. The one that I envisioned at different stages of life, and the “future” that I ended up living.
I lay on my sleeping bag feeling content. Sunlight warmed me as it filtered through the thin material of the small tent that I was inside. Within a few moments, I heard my Mom outside the tent. She unzipped the door and made her way inside.
Sometimes I meticulously plan the execution of my goals, and other times, I happen to complete a goal without even trying to do so. This recently happened when I bought my friend Alexis a bouquet of flowers.
As families across America gather around their tables or TVs to commemorate a holiday that is all about giving thanks, I thought that it would be the perfect opportunity to list a few things that I am incredibly grateful for:
I have dropped the ball when it comes to my personal life. For a while, I was doing a fantastic job of setting goals and proceeding to knock them out of the park. I was organized, habitual, and successful. Unfortunately, those attributes have almost entirely ceased to exist. Somewhere in the past few months, I have watched myself break most of my habits and descend into a life that contains little passion. Instead of challenging myself, I have allowed myself to become lazy, and I want that to end. Now.
It has been over a month since I posted about the end to my 21-goals, and I knew that I could no longer put off sharing what my 22-year-old goals are going to be. In the past (the one year I did goals), I made a goal for each year of my life, but I decided to discontinue this practice for this coming year. Instead of making twenty-two goals, I wanted to make fifteen goals towards which I could devote greater effort. So without any further ado, here is my new set of goals:
Last year I wrote a blog post that detailed my experience working out with two of my friends. To recap: it did not go well. I love running and most other forms of cardio, but using weights has never appealed to me. Sure, I always wanted to be muscular, but I was not too keen on the idea of spending time in a weight room to make that dream a reality. So in true goal-setting fashion, I decided to force myself to use a weight room by saying that I would have to use a weight room twelve separate times within four weeks.
I recently set out to accomplish my goal of doing something to make myself more cultured. I considered my options as I sat on the couch watching a show about a morbidly obese woman showing the world that you can be both fat and fierce. The possibilities included: journeying into the German Village in Columbus to try schnitzel for the first time, visiting an art gallery to immerse myself in art history, or staying home and having Adam, my hipster housemate, give me a lesson on how to make a pour over coffee. I am mildly lazy/not really into art, so I chose the latter option.