Goals, goals, and more goals.

Guess what everyone I know it focusing on?


Of course, I am too. One of my favorite feelings in the world is sitting down and writing out my goals; however, after that shot of euphoria, it feels like pushing a plow uphill, in the snow, without a horse, in only poka-dotted unmentionables, which I assume is difficult, because I have never really been around a plow or a horse.

All the horror movie plowing is just to get started on my goals. Getting any done is more deus ex machina.

To assist with my inability to even get started on my goals, after I have painstakingly written them out in disgustingly fun details, I have decided to also painstakingly write out my expectations for myself.

In life, I am overly concerned with expectations. There is no surprise or romance for my partners. I want to discuss what they expect for every holiday, every gifts, and any other situation that pops up that someone wants something from me.

Yes, it can seem boring to have me discuss what you expect to happen for your birthday, but it beats being disappointed because I did something you did not want, or nothing at all.

Figuring out exceptions allows me to set goals, micro goals, and my everyday expectations towards accomplishing these annoying tiers of goals. The difference between simply planning and setting ones expectations is that I expect that I will fail from time to time. Don’t we all?

Rather than getting upset with myself, I have already calculated, or expected, that failure. Some might call it micromanaging, or even trying to predict the future, but it helps me stay on target. I allow myself to succeed and give a little wiggle room for failure. Allowing, even expecting, failure keeps me motivated, and gives me the false sense that I have control over myself and the world around me.

Even false hope is better than nothing.


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