December 31, 2017: Murphy’s Law.
January 1, 2018: Whatever Will Be, Will Be.
That was how my year began. Nothing would bend to my will.
I love all things New Year’s Eve. Standing on an almost tangible edge into the future, the feeling of freshness and newness excites me. It encourages me. It allows me to move into a literal and figurative new dimension. Amore.
But this year? This year though? Pfft. Let’s recap, shall we? It’s my blog so yes we shall.
I am a bit superstitious so I always do my laundry before the year starts. Who wants to bring dirty laundry into any aspect of their life? Nobody. That’s who. Welp, after failing to secure proper merriment festivities, my nails looking all the levels of ilk (my nail tech trashbagged my nails and should you know me, you understand that is a huge trauma), I couldn’t take anything else going wrong. Until my dryer machines decided to fail me like my sorry a** exes.
Let me tell the whole truth. It wasn’t just these three things that got to me. In the not-so-distant future, I would be turning 30 (*gags*) and planning a party had rendered itself a dud, going away away was a dud, and my expectations looked nothing like my reality.
Naturally, I. Was. Freaking. Out.
Now add the tax of NYE and perhaps you can sympathize with my sentimentality.
So here I stood. In the laundry room of my apartment building. Watching my clothes sit in a machine that had ONE JOB & couldn’t do that. Had taken my money and given me the finger in exchange. And in this moment, I gave the eff up and went to bed.
But in the midst of the chaos and confusion, I did my best not to neglect setting my goals and intentions for the year. Right around the last month of the year, I reflect on everything that had transpired over the previous 52 weeks. Had I done things to which my younger self would be proud? Had I failed myself? Had I prevailed despite those shortcomings?
From there, I begin to look at what I want to accomplish for the impending months ahead- physically, mentally, and emotionally. I proceed to categorize them (I’m a lister; judge your hairline):
- Philanthropy (giving back is my way of serving God and wrapping my soul in gold. It fills me and allows me to love people in the ways my Aquarius spirit need. I get far more from it than I could ever give)
- Career & finances
- Hobbies that bring me joy
- Mind, Body, Spirit (one goal was to write regularly sooo here we are)
Commonly, I have no problem developing a plan for these, but as Murphy’s receding hairline ass would have it, I hit a mental block that did not waver. S&*t.
I came up with quite a few that I thought were substantial, but as we enter the second quarter of this ostentatious year, I am slowly realizing that my goals for the year are boring asf (sidenote: I hate the way the initialism “af” looks largely because we use “idgaf” and the a in both represent different words hence my delineation with the utilization of “s.” Just follow along) and not really from the heart.
Recognizing that my goals are bit blah & because I opted to take the chill route for my birthday, I devised a plan affectionately called the “10-10-10 Challenge.”
- Go Somewhere: 10 new places near and far I have never been
- Help Someone: 10 new ways of giving back big and small
- Learn Something: 10 new lessons for my better good
Dope right? Yea I think so too.
And so I listed where and what and how. And I planned. And I set out. And I was proud. And just as quickly as I began, I ended.
Call it divinity or call it reality, but I realize that my goals are not my goals. I mean they are, but there are not of me. They stem from some immensely insecure place driving me to undertake these tremendous tasks to prove, I don’t know, something? And this unnecessary pressure? Like an elephant sitting on my chest. These goals are not from a place of passion. They do not stem from love. And if love is not the basis, I don’t chase it (*bars*).
Frustrated once again, I find myself ready to say eff it. Yet not the same way I had for New Years. Where I surrendered to my own hopelessness under three comforters and the dramatic “do not disturb” function on. This eff it has me confidently staring into my future excited to see what is next. Perhaps my goals for my life aren’t as big as what He and the Universe have prepared for me.
I won’t completely forfeit my #goals for this year. I’ve decided, instead, to interweave them into my life instead of making them spectacular worthy of pausing the rest of life for their mere existence. Making them less contrived, premeditated events and more guides to a better me. A better daughter. A better sister. A better friend. A better Alyssa.
Instead of plotting and planning on what my lessons will be, how I will help, or where I’ll travel, I will simply allow these things to find me.
And I know this reads hella cliché, but it doesn’t make it any less my truth.
I hope you stick around as I figure out what the hell is going on & I hope you find some testaments of your own in this thing called life.
2018, you’re really something else, but I think I might like you.
I’ll call you back later.