Goals = fail.
I could qualify that with:
sometimes
in my life
or I’m sorta feeling that way – at the moment.
But that’s not the full truth.
It’s not that I don’t try (hard). Work (hard). Reach (far).
But there’s something about saying it – out loud – that causes that goal to become a commitment. A promise.
And I have (so many) issues with breaking promises.
Feels like lying.
My interests
phases
captivations change.
Which is why I could – should – never get a tattoo.
Well, that and the needles.
What could I get
that I might actually
still like 3 hours
months
years from now?
Smiley faces, stickers, blue, Frappuccinos, M.C. Escher, rollerblading, Ireland, lemon everything, Green Day, scrapbooking…
I still like those things, but I don’t love them as much. Not nearly. I’m not as sort-of-obsessed with them as I once was.
Tastes
phases
(dis)likes change.
Or I do.
And what if I do try (hard), work (hard), reach (far) and still miss? Still mess up? (Fail.)
I know I do
have
will.
And survived – so far.
But why set myself up to fail? (Fear?
Of?)
I’m not settling for mediocrity.
(I don’t think.)
(Am I?)
I’m still striving. Just not out loud.
Not outwardly.
Not for everyone else.
Maybe for me… Maybe for what I could have possibly been designed to do?
Enter a thousand questions
specifics.
Did He design me – personally – to do
be something?
Anything?
Do I even get to have that?
Why is that so clear for other people and I still have no idea?
Where does living for everyone
anyone else
start
and living for me end?
Which direction do I go
run
pursue?
After Him, Christians answer.
Well, yeah.
But where is that?
So I am left trying
to follow Him
to find where He wants me to go,
find some direction –
that isn’t me
or someone else,
that isn’t selfish
and also doesn’t make me a doormat
or a wuss.
Preferably at the same time.