Every year, for as long as I can remember, I’ve started the new year off with a set of goals, detailing what I wanted to achieve over the 365 days to follow. Most of the goals are hopeful. They are reflections of a change or maturation of values, or represent the steps necessary to get to a new and improved position in my life.
This year, try as I might to put them down, I cannot really think of any.
I’ve tried many times, my fingers hovering over the keys on my keyboard, itching to jot down my innermost desires. At the same time, I find myself squinting and staring off into the middle distance, trying to formulate a list of achievable and measurable goals.
And I still can’t think of any.
I have a couple weak ones written down, but I don’t feel strongly about them. The truth is, I have no real skin in the game about whether or not they are accomplished or not. If they are, that would be cool, but I won’t feel like I failed to live up to my potential if they don’t get crossed off before the end of the year.
At first, I wondered if this is a form of depression. I’m not sure if I’m depressed, or just had a bit of a mental breakdown this year (more on that later). Or maybe I’m growing older.
But when I think about it, I don’t think it’s any of those things. Really, I think it’s a sign that I’m pretty content with how my life already is. There are things I’d tweak here and there, but I’m a happy guy, and am pleased with how things are at the moment.
I think this is also a result of wisdom that I have gained over the past year. It’s strange embarking on another year without a new set of goals. But if I know anything, it’s that things will change, nothing will go quite to plan, and the year will be vastly different (and hopefully, better) than I expect.
Here’s to a great new year.