I had never really been an “aim-and-fire” kind of person, the kind who sets her sights on something and runs towards it until she’s there. It must have something to do with my attention span and my motivation. Specifically my lack of either one.
But at the beginning of this year, I tried to do something for the first time. I set a list of goals for the year. Some of them were pretty specific, like “Read at least 20 books,” while others were as vague and fluid as “Do 10 things I’ve never done before.”
Just last week I was lamenting over my list and how behind I am on completing it. Some items are more or less gone by now, while others just became difficult because I put them off so long. And of course I was feeling sorry for myself and my growing list of disappointments.
But something happened recently, I guess that odd, false feeling of “invincibility” that comes with depression sometimes. You know, when people who have been through a personal hell feel like they’ll never experience anything worse. And so they become reckless, or brave, or maybe just tired of hiding under the blankets at 4 in the afternoon.
I realized I might actually be learning to let things go.
I think I finally accept the meaning of the line, “Things didn’t go as planned and that’s okay.“
I think I am finally forgiving myself for having little failures that help me grow.
You don’t know what a huge deal this is.
On New Year, I received a letter from myself. First I reminded myself of what my hopes and wishes were a year before, and then I reminded myself that it was totally okay if I didn’t get them. In fact, I congratulated myself for getting through the year at all. These are the kinds of things I do to cope.
I am constantly learning to coach myself positively, to treat myself kindly, to protect myself in a world where nobody else will. I think I might be seeing the effects of it for the first time. So somewhere I changed from mourning my unfulfilled goals, into listing down the chances I still have to do it.
Instead of thinking that half the year is gone, I think that I still have half a year to go.
Let me tell you, I still find sadness beautiful; it’s still my old friend, and I am certain we will still be seeing each other a lot. But god, if this is what positivity tastes like I don’t think I’d ever want to go back.