Does anyone else like to make lists about random stuff? With so much going on in my life, I decided to sit down and make out a list. This was a few years ago and this was more than a list, it was a timeline of goals, growth, and grit. I had forgotten about it until I found it tucked away in a notebook. Now, I’m disappointed with myself.
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I’m sure we have all done it at one point, decided to get serious about what we are doing with our lives and create a timeline of expectations for the next few years. When I sat down with my pen and pink notebook in 2019, I wanted to create a timeline of my kids. With the youngest being 5 years old and the eldest is about to turn 21 this month, it was tough to keep track of where they would be. Who would be in primary school at the same time? Would the boys be in secondary school at the same time? How old would the eldest be with the littlest left school? So, I made a timeline, worked out who would be where, and was happy with knowing how the kids school years would pan out. Then I decided to do one for me….
The plan was simple. I would choose five goals that I wanted to achieve each year. In theory, they were possible. I was riding high on my first book being published. I had just had my fourth and final baby. I didn’t have to do much more work for my degree. Things were coming together; I got cocky. I think around that time we all did. I had gotten into my head that I could do anything. The problem was, I put the list down and forgot about it. The goals I had planned out until 2030 (yes, that long) were put on a shelf with other things that I would get back around to.
I’m not going to bore you with the entire list. When I say bore you, what I mean is “I’m actually super embarrassed by the ideas that I had”. In 2019, I thought I would be able to write two books….with a newborn baby. I foolishly believed that I would manage 20 ParkRuns that year after I had recovered from giving birth in Feburary. Say it with me, looooooooooool!!!!! Of the five things that were on the list, four of them were doable if I removed my finger from my ass. The only thing I knew I would struggle with was making £10k per month (a girl can dream). The following year, I had planned to write five books. By 2023, it was going to be ten books per year (where I was getting the content and the time, I have no idea). I looked through the list, each year with a clear set of goals, most of them within my grasp if I had put some effort in, and laughed. I laughed at the naive enthusiasm of a younger version of myself who thought they were getting their life together. And then I got sad.
If I had a magic mirror that would allow me to speak to the younger me, a me that existed only 5 years earlier, I don’t think I could. I don’t think I could stand to see the disappointment in her eyes as I explain what happened in those years. Covid was a kick in the teeth for most people, and I do think it played a part in my falling off the wagon. Could I handle explaining to her that yes, we did achieve some things. but not a damn thing off that timeline? It maybe only took an hour for her to pull it together but at that time, those goals were so vivid, so within her reach, that I couldn’t be bothered to haul my backside out of bed to do one ParkRun? While I have been sitting writing this, I have had the list beside me. I have flicked back and forth through the pages, trying to remember the joy and excitement as I put pen to paper a few years ago. I keep asking myself the same question; are these goals still doable?
Today, I will make slightly younger me proud. There is no point in being sad or disappointed in myself. All I can do is learn from this mistake, keep my list close, and start to make headway with the dreams I had in 2019. With that in mind, please excuse me while I make a start and write 37 books.