Goals - Closing 2011

As a refresher, here were the goals for 2011.

And now, the final review:


Creativity - B+
I can't say enough how amazing the experience with my 365 project was. A leap of blind faith turned into so much more, in ways I wasn't even quite comfortable thinking about. I missed a few days, and by "a few", in some cases I mean "a lot".

The rest of the creativity stuff...didn't do so well. I did cook a few new things, learn a few new techniques, but not like a year's dedication would have meant. I didn't do much writing, and house redecorating didn't happen either.  The 365 project completely carries this goal, which was something I definitely wanted.

Financial - A
Check. I would give it an A+, but the implied investment side of the goal didn't turn out.

Fitness - A
Half Ironman - CHECK.
PRs - actually, looking back, surprisingly, CHECK. 3 PRs for the year. There was some unstated sub context about RUNNING PRs, and I did PR at Bloomsday and take 4 mins off my time, but this fast running thing really didn't pan out this year much, with the focus on the 70.3 and then bailing on the Seattle Half Mara.

Home Related - F
Yeah, this did not happen. New garbage disposal by necessity. Nothing else. I cleaned out my little cubby in the coffee table a couple times, and did reorganize my camera stuff a number of times. This does not count for much.

Miscellany - ?
How can you grade something you didn't write down? Some cool things for the year: I did more classics reading, including Virginia Woolf, Goethe, Jonathan Swift, Ayn Rand and Oscar Wilde. Maybe that had something to do with taking it off my list of goals, but I think it had more to do with accessibility and cheapness (FREE!) on my Kindle.

Overall:
Not bad - and I'm actually really happy with how well I did on most of this stuff.

carnation

Fencing

The fence was there long before I came along, on this walk that by happenstance delivered me to this field. Across the field in waist high grass, my feet sinking into grass-padded mud I trudged.

Falling down, in disrepair, rust had claimed the strength of this fence and with it's remaining grip, it barely supported the wires and crossmembers. Overgrown with the same grass covering the field, I wondered about the fence's intent - originally to keep something in, or something out....now but a marker of a barrier that meant something once and now needs little reminder. Sharp, rusted corners of failing barbed wire contrast with the sparse construction overall - an interesting juxtaposition of frailty armed with aggressive intent.

I walk along, my dog and I, still sinking in the mud, and I wonder how many fences, similarly frail and sharp, I have hidden in the overgrowth of my own mind and heart, what I originally built them for, and if they still have any meaning.

Looking

Looking down the darkened hallway, I see the crack of a door, light pouring from it's tiny opening on the bare floor. My own door creaks as I realize I am leaning on the knob as I furtively peer around it's half closed concealment. My bare feet feel the floor; could I stealthily creep down the hallway to investigate? I try to recall the creaks and cracks, sparing a few words to my undetailed memory.

I risk it, feeling the floor beneath my feet, rolling silently and slowly through my toes step by step along the corridor. The light becomes bigger and darkens the dark around me. I hear small nothings in the room, deafened by the sound of my attempted silence, breathing, and thoughts.

More now than before, the curiosity owns me and compels me forward. I know not what I would do or say if discovered; resigned, I realize the truth is my closest ally: curiosity.

What is behind the door? What compels me forward this day, this night?

The Finger

You know, the best thing I ever did creatively (no, it wasn’t that post about intangibility, or the one later about tea) was to get mad. My friend, who is very talented both as a writer and photographer – she might not believe me, but it’s true – and even as a business analyst, mentioned this quote from some asshole about writer’s block meaning you shouldn’t be a writer. I wonder if that guy knows he inspired me by being such an asshole. M mentioned this in passing, in an email, and it so angered me that I felt I had to prove him wrong. And I started blogging.

That was 4 years ago.

I’m still blogging. Maybe not as often, maybe not always with the quality I’d like, but I’m still doing it, and I’m still honing my craft. Why? Because I got mad.

When I was a kid, I watched my mom get mad every time someone told her no, every time someone told her that I had an issue. I watched it spark her energy and get her going; maybe it’s a bit of her in me – don’t you tell me I can’t because I WILL GO do it, just to spite you.

Somehow, over the last 4 years, creatively, I’ve gone through some cycles – the post a lot cycles, the creative spark cycles, the boredom with my voice cycle, the journalistic reporting of my current events, a few efforts to redefine my vision.

I think I’m in one of those cycles now – a combination of stagantion, indecision, and crippling self doubt – and perhaps that’s what I need: some good old fashioned anger and spark to prove someone wrong to get me going.

Motivation is good, and I can’t tell you how amazing I feel inside when I get a comment or an email that something I wrote, or photographed, has touched someone, or helped them see something in a new way. But, it is a lot harder to live up to something amazing than it is to flip off something awful and say, “Fuck you!” by doing that very thing and intending to show up that critic, be it internal or external. Apparently, my inner critic really backs down to that kind of treatment.

Writer’s block, my ass.

Here we go again!