Dragon Sized Goals

“Fairy tales do not teach children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales teach children the dragons can be destroyed.” G. K. Chesterton


I have been thinking about the concept of Goal Setting lately. I guess it's just what happens when the end of your “early to mid” 30's are but a few short weeks away. I have NEVER been a real goal setter. I HATE lists. I'm great at making them, just not so good at following them (or actually making it from the house to the car and then the car to the store with them at all).
I suppose I have been successful at setting and meeting short term goals: I plan to have had a shower in the next 30 minutes; Dinner will be cooked at some point this evening; I will verify the toilet rim is clean before my guests arrive.
I tend to function more whimsically: I'm going to clean out ALL the closets Right Now!; What a nice paint color on that TV show. I'm going to to Home Depot so I can paint the kitchen today; Let's get ALL 500 pictures from the past two years developed so I can scrap book this afternoon.
But the term “easy come, easy goes” definitely applies when you do things that way. Then it's three in the morning and I'm surrounded in a sea of pictures, paper, and glue sticks when I get bored or tired, so I shove all the stuff in a box for another six months to a year until I get that wild hair again.
There's a lot of risk in sitting down and saying “THIS is my goal”; like, “I will have met my goal if I weigh 130lbs by such and such date(yeah, right)”, “ I will have met my goal if have such and such education by a certain age”; “ I will have met my goal if I have the perfect job in my preferred industry in five years”.
But, because God loves the stupid and blesses the unworthy, I have been the recipient of a life full of all things good and beautiful without really setting or fulfilling any sort of long term goals. If I knew me, I'd sorta hate me. It may appear from the outside as though I haven't had to work toward anything- I fall ass-backward into blessings and I don't think you'd be wrong. I guess that I've been lucky by NOT setting goals so far. I figure, if it ain't broke, don't fix it.(Does that sound really braggy? Because I'm really trying to communicate grateful and undeserving, but it may sound braggy....I hope it doesn't.... Sorry). I am blessed -NO question. I am content......or am I really just complacent?
As a child, I was QUITE the daydreamer. I romanticized EVERYHTING. I was the Micheal Scott of Eaton Elementary. We would have planned a trip to Disney or someplace and I had already imagined the entire experience in my head, and was disappointed when things didn't go according to fantasy. Not that the experience was BAD in any way- just not like I had imagined it. And what could ever live up to the unrealistic expectations of an 8 year old Dreamer? Just because I could control the Barbie World in my bedroom floor I thought I could control everything else.
Then, I think there was a time in my youth when life was so unstable that “rolling with the punches” just became my natural response to anything. I began to get tired of the disappointment. And instead of being realistic, I went to the other extreme and thought “If I don't want or hope for anything, then I won't be disappointed”. So when “Oh my goodness- they gave me a part in the school play” or “wow, they gave me a spot in whatever singing group” happened, I was totally blown away and grateful. But, as a teenager, I had to look cool and act like it was “No biggie” because I was afraid that somehow if I put out there how happy I was, it would be taken away from me. When in reality, I was FLOORED at being given the opportunities.
When it comes to the unpleasant things in life, I have abandoned the “it won't happen to me attitude”, and adopt the “yes, it very well MAY happen to me, and I'll walk that line between Faith and Denial if it does and get through it”. When it comes to the cool stuff....I can just say “WOW”.- and I no longer feel the need to feign the “no biggie” attitude. I am okay with being all nerdy and excited about things now. No one can take away my happiness. I can only give it away. Which is really neat, but I think there may be also something cool to say, THIS is what I want to accomplish, be focused on it and reap, not only the blessing of what you have worked for, but also the satisfaction of taking on a challenge and succeeding. (I know all of you are going “Yeah. So?” but this is a new concept for me so cut me some slack).
The real reason I don't set goals is I assume failure. Assuming Failure is easy. It requires no risk, emotional or otherwise. Setting and working toward a goal requires action and often sacrifice without the guarantee of success- no matter how hard you work or how “good” you think may be at something. Often in order to achieve something you have to deal with people or obstacles you have no control over. (Hello, Excuses! Come sit by me!)
Or just maybe I have this goal setting thing all wrong. Perhaps it's not the “goal” I'm afraid of, but what the goal says to me about feeling validation. “I will be VALID when I weigh 130 lbs”; “I will be VALID when I have such and such education by a certain age”; “I will be VALID if I have the perfect job in my preferred industry in five years”. If actually set the goal, when I fail, I have to recognize that I am not valid. I'm happy now. Why rock the boat?
My favorite movie of ALL time is Sleeping Beauty. As a kid, I wanted to be Briar Rose- beautiful and more than she believed herself to be, and waiting for Once Upon a Dream. As I got older, I wanted to be Maleficent- in control, powerful and Dangerous (I do so LOVE Maleficent). I think now, I need to work on my inner Prince Phillip- work toward “the goal” (did I actually commit that to writing) of slaying the dragons of insecurity, fear, and excuses. Recognizing at the same time I'm going to need a little help from some fairies and a magic sword along the way.



Thanks to Jhon- my Dancing Nietzsche- for the Chesterton quote

18 year-old Catharsis

Today is one of those milestone type days, and one which I would only typically celebrate in my heart. However, in the interest of being real with myself and working on that part of me which struggles with finding courage, I write and I post. (sighs)
Eighteen years ago today, when I was seventeen years old, I found myself in the surreal position of being a hospital, in pain, giving birth. It is a chapter in my life that has influenced who I am today, in every aspect. A pivotal circumstance with many choices, and the acute awareness, even at that young age, that decisions I had to make would rule the fate of many (oooh, how Lord of the Ringsy of me).
It did not begin in that hospital, or even nine months before, but was the fallout of years of confusion, insecurity and bad choices mixed with a bit of hope, and an even smaller bit of common sense.
I knew pretty much early on that I was pregnant. I knew, but I denied. I tried to push the possibility to the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay farthest corner or my contentiousness. But when your monthly bill does not arrive and you're consistently late to your first class because your puking your guts out every day, you have to face some realities in your life.
My family, as I had known it, had completely fallen apart months before. It would have been kinder if it had truly “disintegrated”, because then all the pieces would have just vanished rather than writhe around on the floor in pain. My father was holding it together and making the hard choice to simply breathe in and out each day for the sake of his children, and I had to rip out another piece of his broken heart and confess how I had further disappointed him.
I wasn't “out loud and proud” with all the gusto of Juno. I continued the last half senior year, and all the activities that went with it without a word about it, even to my closest friends, save to one or two people. I was quieter, and truthfully, less obnoxious than I previously had been, but it was easier to let people think I was just a bitch than admit the truth. Many knew how my family situation had been, so they just dismissed the fact that I wasn't much fun as having to do with that. My weight had always been up and down, so the fact that I was putting on a few pounds was unremarkable. And if the odd person DID have the balls to ask, I would lie, of coarse.
I was surrounded by a sea of 4000 high school students and felt completely alone. My dad was always there, but I felt I had let him down so terribly that emotionally, I pushed him away. I completely retreated into myself. Just me, the baby inside and God.
I never doubted God was there. And though I knew I had blown it Big Time, I also knew that He loved me and would never leave. I knew I was TOTALLY out of my league and had to let Him take the drivers seat, at least in this situation, because I obviously was completely incapable of handling things myself. God provided not only comfort, but people to guide me during those nine months. And he led me and those who would be this child's parents to each other.
I looked at a binder full of letters and pictures from prospective adoptive parents. I came to a couple who had adopted a little girl three years previously. I loved reading their cheesy love story of how they met in a Roller Disco. They were people of faith, and wanted to live in the country to raise pygmy goats. I had an affection for pygmy goats. Whether or not they every DID move to the country to raise goats does not really matter-it was the “sign” I was looking for. I knew right then and there. I still keep their letter to this day.
So, on October 6th, 1992, I gave birth to an 8lb 11oz baby boy. I held him in my room that night, watching TV bits on the upcoming presidential election and David Letterman. Feeding him and smelling him. Keeping the reality that tomorrow he would go home with someone else out of my mind for the time. Being absolutely 100% present for the first time in my life, for those precious moments.
The next day, his parents came. They were fun people. I had felt very at ease with them. We laughed a lot and I asked if they would like to hold him. And in that moment, something close to magical happened when I handed my son to his mother- the only time in his life the two of us would each have a hand on him- when he physically left my world and entered hers. A forever joining of hearts wrapped up in this tiny creature. Later, when she left room, she looked at me tearfully and said “Thank You”. You see, I wouldn't understand until years later and I had my own children what those tears were about. I never considered that I was giving them anything, but that they were taking him for me. I was only truly grateful that they allowed God to bring them my way so that they would accept and care for my child truly as their own. And I have continued to be grateful all these years.
So, Happy Birthday, wherever you are. I am confident you are well loved and successful and have a wonderful family who have raised you well, physically and spiritually. Because of you I am a better mother to my children and do not take the honor of Motherhood for granted. You will always have a piece of my heart.