I've been thinking about goals. I've never been a very goal-oriented person. Some years back, I realized that I'd spent an awful lot of my life coasting because I'm smart and attractive and very intuitive. Combine this with various childhood issues that made my (perceived/ego) "survival" dependent more upon convincing others that I could do things rather than actually doing them, and I figured that those were the reasons I hadn't been goal-oriented and that it was time to make a shift.

I've spent the last few years reading and thinking and trying to figure out what works for me. I came across some excellent advice regarding how to define and break down goals into small, incremental steps which, if followed on a daily basis, will lead to the accomplishment of great things. It made sense. It would work. And yet....

Over on a friend's blog, we started talking about following dreams and paying bills and all the usual conflicts of reconciling the two desires. Someone pointed out that dreams have a shelf-life: as we grow and change, our dreams change with us.

What do you do when your dreams have a shelf-life of a couple of months?

Take languages. I love languages, but I'm really not fluent in anything more than English. If I brush up, I might be able to get by in basic French, but everything else is just smatterings. Over the past few years, I've decided to really work on my French/Spanish/Russian. I was really motivated, I studied, I tried teaching Hunter, and I was sincerely looking forward to being able to fluently converse in whichever tongue I'd chosen that time.

And then, after three weeks or six, I simply wasn't interested anymore.

Sure, I could have forced myself to continue studying, but why? What was the point, if I weren't enjoying it?

Even my music. Last year, I started playing my piano more regularly. It had been years since I'd deliberately practiced, and over the space of a few months, I was delighted at how my skills had increased, the number of songs I could play. One of the books I was reading at the time inspired me to get in touch with what I truly desired, deep inside, and I was surprised to find that, for all that my music was my personal therapy, I did want to be sufficiently proficient to be able to perform in public.

So I set up a practice schedule, determined not to let it slide as it is so easy to do, what with taking care of child and working and cleaning the house and Hunter wants to play the piano with me then it's already his bedtime and I can't play after he goes to bed because he won't sleep. And I actually did keep with it, for a while.

I think it's been six months since I've played. It's not because I don't want to do the work, but because the dream itself -- the one that not so long ago was so vibrant and compelling -- no longer draws me towards it.

I think one of the problems I'm having with scheduled goals and regimented means of achieving them is because so much of my first three decades was spent trying to figure out what I was Supposed to do, who I was Supposed to be, and I got out of touch with myself.

I am a process-oriented person. When I am connected with Life and centered within my Self, things seem to flow more easily. Having lists or designated Goals To Achieve shut me off from that connection.


I am reminded of a conversation I had with a musician many years ago in which he talked about how he kept plugging away at his music, even if there were a dry spell, and eventually he'd come out on the other side. I told him that, if something weren't working for me, I'd try something else. He responded, "So, what you're saying is, if you hit a dry spell, you go looking for water." Which does seem to sum it up. I don't like to stick around if I feel like I'm beating my head on the wall because there's so much out there I could be investing with my energy instead.


When I started writing this entry, I was concerned. Am I a flake? Why can't I hang onto my dreams long enough to do something about them?

But as I've been sitting here, working things through, I think I know what's been going on. It's not that I lose my dreams, but that I have so many, they need to take turns.

Right now, I'm attempting to reclaim our house. I want to be able to walk into the door and relax, to be able to find things, to feel like it's a safe, welcoming haven from the world outside. It doesn't feel like that right now. Even though I've been working on it, it still feels cluttered and chaotic, a prison of unfinished obligations. And I think that some part of me realizes that creating that nurturing space is a requirement that, without which, no other dreams can flourish.

I guess, like I posted before, I really am setting down my roots.

I am looking forward to future blossoms.