I know I should be working on my writing. If I don't write, I will never get published, but I have dificulties focusing. Too many potential distractions in my life.
I have vowed to myself, in this my 50th year on the planet, that I have goals that MUST be obtained. I may be setting myself up for colossal failure, like that is anything new to me.
Goal One: I will get published this year. I have made this promise too many times over the last few years. It seems as if every year as my birthday rolls past I tell myself, "This is THE year. The year I will get published." I'm sick and tired of letting myself down on this one. Too many good stories have languished in my computer until catastrophic failure has lost them to me forever. This is no one's fault but my own. My own lack of self-importance, self-confidence, self-esteem. The crippling thought that I am not good enough. The panic at the thought of any criticism. Criticism that will crush my soul and what scrap of confidence in my skills that I may have scraped up from the bottom of my sense of self. I have to force this issue, despite my abject terror at the thought of failure, or of success. Can anyone understand that behind the facade of confidence lurks that 4th grade kid that stood outside of the classroom door for half an hour, terrified of the attention that would be focused on her as she walked into class late, panic making her stand frozen in the hallway as moments ticked past and the anxiety level reached epic proportions. Can anyone understand that fear who has not experienced it first hand? I think not. For most it is merely an abstract thought, a vague understanding of what "anxiety" really means.
Okay, enough of that pity-party.
Goal Two: I need to get my health under control. In other words, I need to get my weight under control. I know most who look at me wouldn't give it too much thought, but I think if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by this time next year, it will never leave. I will be doomed to gaining a few pounds a year until, by the time I hit 80 I will weigh 300 pounds. The thought sickens me. I wish I had the figure of an adolescent boy. I wish I could pass myself off as a totally androgynous, non curvaceaous, person. I want broad shoulders, flat stomach, good pecs, and rippling muscles. The rippling muscles are there, they just hide under a layer of fat. Try as I might, I can't quite be happy with that.
Goal Three: I want a house of my own. I am tired of renting. Tired of my money paying someone else's mortgage payment. I want my acre or two. I don't care what the house is like, I would live in a tent if the property was decent enough. I don't want/need much, just some farmable space of my own. A few fruit trees would be nice though.
Three goals, one year to achieve them. I want to think that these are all obtainable goals, individually and as a whole. No one can do this for me, I must do it myself. Again.
Someday I would love to be able to turn the reins over to someone else, even for just a little while. I get tired of being the sole traveler on this voyage sometimes. Solitude is all good and well, but even I can wish that I didn't have to do it by myself ALL the time.
But... I have myself, I need no one else.