I know that after the dumpster fire that has been 2020, it seems foolishly optimistic to make any kind of resolutions for the new year, but maybe that’s why I decided it was time to do so. I’ve never been good at resolutions. I mean, who is? But I like setting semi-achievable goals for myself as I look to the future. My husband likes to call these my “Sarantees,” promises with good intentions that get forgotten in the shuffle. I guess a year will tell.
The above lessons don’t even begin to scratch the surface of all that I’ve learned in the last year of regular writing and it is a practice I have no intention of giving up. I know that there are going to continue to be harder weeks than others, but it has been an important practice that I know I need to keep doing as I work towards bigger and more challenging writing goals.
Overall, I think I did a pretty good job with the summer. While three goals are incomplete, it was a wonderful summer and I don’t regret a thing (except maybe all of that work I was still doing in June.) I learned and grew and I’m returning to school emotionally and mentally refreshed.
It has been said on sign and meme and poster time and time again: I may not know what the future holds but I know who holds the future. It’s a little cheesy but it’s also true. No matter what the future holds, I’m looking forward to the next decade. I choose to not see 40 as the start of the decline (despite what my knees occasionally tell me) but the continuation of a life that just gets better with age.
I’m really great at setting idealistic goals and then being seriously disappointed when I get to the end of a break and I don’t achieve those goals. And it’s usually not for lack of trying. My husband likes to call them my “Sarahntees,” well-intentioned “promises” of things that I really want to see take place, but life gets in the way or the goal takes significantly longer than I intended which means I have to either put other, smaller tasks to the side or scrap the bigger idea for something less complicated.