I Have One Goal for 2022
In November 2020, I was looking at a cool new planner I had bought for the upcoming year and decided to try something different with goal-setting.
In the past, I would set my goals as if I was taking dictation. I wrote down things I thought I should do or want. I would set the bar too high or too low or just run in the wrong direction.
In November 2020, I took my journal and poured my soul out. I wanted to go deep, to connect to my true desires, and come up with goals that I would have endless energy and courage for. Not necessarily big or prestigious or ambitious ones. But ones that I want.
I ended up with pretty cool goals for 2021, I thought. I burned with desire for them. They looked something like:
- Write a poetry collection
- Write a children’s book
- Grow a herb garden on my balcony
- Research family history in my paternal grandparents’ hometown
- Create cool games for the kids in the Roma community I was doing volunteer work for
- Study the Romanes language
- Learn horseback riding
- Make a full-time living writing for myself
Can you guess how many of these goals I achieved?
2021 had its own goals
My planner, which I ended up stubbornly using for a couple of months before I acknowledged I should just let it go, had a weekly layout. In November 2020, I couldn’t wait to start using it. I kept looking at the first week, beginning on Monday, December 28, 2020, and just ached to start writing.
By the time December 28 rolled around, I had forgotten about the planner. Just the day before, both my parents were hospitalized with COVID-19. My father was on a ventilator. I had spent the previous week at their place, looking after them, until it became clear that they are actively getting worse. I called an ambulance for my father in the early hours of December 27. In the afternoon, I rode in an ambulance with my mother to get her checked in at another hospital. The following days were pure…