Most days I wake up and have no clue what to expect during that day. I slumber through the process of getting clothes ready and screaming at kids to hurry up so that I don’t have to drive 80 mph to make sure my son doesn’t miss his bus. While I should have gotten clothes and lunches ready the night before, I was too tired from the day to make any forward-looking progress.
I’m not a goal setter, basically. In no area of life, over my life, have I ever set firm goals. That’s probably not a good thing. As a matter of fact, my lack of setting goals has probably contributed to my almost loafing through life. And when I say goals, I mean stuff like…where do I see myself in 3 years? Or 1 year? Or next month? And how am I going to get there?
Is it possible that my fear of failure is so ingrained that I avoid setting goals so that I don’t have to face the prospect that I might fail to achieve them?
It is quite possible. I long to be an idea-generating, goal-smashing machine. But at 37 years of age, am I too old to change my spots into stripes?
Maybe it is time for me to find out.
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