So many years I started the day off with resolutions:

I will lose weight. I will exercise more. I will make better grades, and so on…

I read something the other day that pointed out that too often resolutions reinforce the negative aspects of our lives. Our failures and shortcomings.

As I muddle through middle age, I tend to agree with that assessment. Which is why a few years ago I stopped making resolutions and started setting goals. If you don’t meet the goal, chances are you can still measure progress.

There’s also the idea of developing good habits- I will exercise changed to:

    I will strive for 10,000 steps a day. I will set a goal of walking five days a week. 

So the measurable goals:

Last year I set a goal to download all of my poems, sort them by theme and print them for myself. I started, but I didn’t finish. Did I achieve the goal? No, but I did make significant progress.

I set a reading goal last year. Sixty books was challenging, and I made it just under the buzzer, so that’s a goal to strive for again this year.

Some goals are hard to measure- being kinder, or being more positive. I have only my inner compass to gauge whether I am successful or not.

The immeasurable goals:

Here’s one that can only be measured internally- being true to myself, to mentally stop worrying so much about pleasing others or keeping the peace. In business we must cooperate and work as a team, but I speak up more for what I think is equitable in the workplace. I need to apply this to the personal sphere as well.

Finally, the writing goals.

I did not write enough in 2017. I can point to many reasons why I did not write.  Looking back at those setbacks did not shame me, but helped me remove the obstacles to writing more this year.  I can’t create more hours in the day, but I can do a better job of carving out regular time to sit with pen and paper and get some words down.

As I get older I realize January resolutions, goals, good habits or new dreams aren’t so much about changing myself- it’s about challenging me to keep growing and evolving.

What dreams, goals, or good habits do you hope to achieve in 2018?

©annettealaine2018

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Short of the Goal

I’ve fallen short of my goal this year. I wanted to write more and figured once we moved and college girl returned to school, I would sit on my porch with a laptop and just let the words flow like the river below me.

Ten months later, I have decreased to the point that some of my old writing pals thought I gave it up.

I could blame it on the longer commute to and from work. I could mention all the creative juices I expend on a normal day for my job. I could point out that my exercise routine has increased dramatically, and as a result I have less time for writing, but the bottom line is I haven’t felt the spark for many months.

I read more than I write these days. I don’t know why the muse has abandoned me, but for now it’s on an extended hiatus.

I read more news articles, and then devour fiction to escape the bleakness of our world right now.  Writing fiction would be a lovely antecdote to the daily newsfeed, but I cannot make up any plot stranger, or create characters weirder than the people running our government.

I write in my head quite a bit as I walk early in the morning. Not poems about the beauty I see, but angry posts as I respond to male letter writers in the local paper who still shame and blame women for “dressing inappropriately” at work.

Mostly though, I’m spending my time re-examining my own voice. Who am I, and why do I feel my work matters?

My goal this year was to get all of my poetry gathered, sorted and printed in some form. The task remains half finished.

I’m not angry or disappointed in what I have not accomplished this year- that’s not productive and never works as motivation.

Instead of lamenting what did not get done, I am going to let myself figure out if writing still fits into my life. And if so, where and when do I make time for it. Developing healthy habits this year was a goal that I’ve achieved physically. Now it’s time to check my creative habits and decide what to aim for in 2018.

©annettealaine2017

The Drought

The Drought

Blame it on the weather.

The rain should give me the motivation to write because I can’t walk or sit on the porch, so I have no other activities to hold me back.

But my muse is taking a break.

I haven’t had any recent revelations, no existential crisis, and nary a deep thought in weeks.

Perhaps a vacation will help.

 

I have no plans for my upcoming vacation. It doesn’t feel right even calling it “vacation.” I’m not headed for the mountains, or the lake, or another city- I’m staying home and doing the usual stuff. The only difference is I don’t have to go to work.

I usually use a portion of my vacation to tackle a project I don’t make time for- going through the closets or cleaning out the garage. But, I did that months ago as I prepared for our big move.

Maybe the secret is not about time to write but about giving myself the space to think and dream. To sit, observe, taste new words, roll sentences around on my tongue and string together a group of words or sentences to form a poem, or story.

Perhaps my muse will return from her journey soon, refreshed and renewed.

I hope so.

©annettealaine2017