I set one goal this year, stuck with it, and changed my life.
This never happens.
Not that I don’t set goals. I love setting goals. This is probably why my husband and I are perfect for each other. We enable each other’s insatiable obsession with starting new projects; creating things, making things, learning things, becoming better versions of ourselves.
Between the two of us, we own about 40 different domain names that represent the 40 different “great” ideas we’ve had over the years. If you’re trying to start a business called Feast Heart, or To Be A Garden, sorry. I snatched those up ages ago. I used to own Working With Dinosaurs (dot) (com). Don’t ask. We spend our date nights mapping out invention ideas on napkins, and I’m two chapters into writing a post-apocalyptic fiction novel about lovers who wake up in slave labor camps on different planets after having their brains cryonically frozen. How will Sella and Soren ever find each other?!
I have big dreams, people.
But I’m notorious for epic starts, then hard falls. Until I had a revelation this year, as we raced up to the calendar change between 2018 and 2019. I decided to set no big project goals for myself, no cures, no new albums, no grand expectations. It’s like I had to pry my shaky fingers away from my New Years Resolution pen and be okay with not changing the world.
All I wrote in my journal as the year shifted over was Win My Morning.
And this has been my secret, the one thing that has changed me, that’s actually stuck.