Crossing Items Off a List

Each year, in celebration of my natal anniversary, I make a list of all of the things I would like to achieve in my next year of life. Most of these things are small. I think it may have been Oprah who said something about the importance of setting achievable goals. "You shouldn't say, 'I'm going to get a raise this year,' because you cannot choose to give yourself a raise," I seem to recall her explaining. "Instead, say, 'I'm going to work hard and be an employee who is deserving of a raise.'" Not one to defy Oprah, I took her advice to heart.
There are many things in life that are simply out of my reach. I can't stop people from taking me for granted. I can't make someone fall in love with me. I can't give myself a promotion. But there are plenty of things that I can do. I can be assertive and stand up for myself. I can practice recognizing my own assets and building up my confidence. And I can bowl. By god, I can bowl*.
The items on my list are very rarely about emotional growth, or doing better at work. They are about spending time with the people in my life who matter most to me. They're about having fun and living in the moment. They're about helping others as best as I can and as often as I can. They are, quite literally, about bowling. And, more often than not, at least one is about running.
This year, one of the things on my list was to write more. Technically, I do write daily. I write newsletter articles. I write tweets. I write business emails. I write brochures. I write text for PowerPoints. I write proposals. I write website content. I write all sorts of things. Often, I even enjoy what I am writing, but I don't actually write for enjoyment.
So in this year of my life (even though my birthday was a little over a month ago), I am making a return to writing. Specifically a return to writing with the sole intention of making myself laugh.


*but not well

Just one...

It was an idealistic week of infatuation, never meant to last. He was moving. To Europe. In eight days. We seemed entirely in sync. Hanging off of each other's words. Staring in awe at one another.
We maximized our time together in the evenings, knowing that it was limited. "Why am I only meeting you now?" we both repeated more than once.
It was his last night in the country, naturally, that we had our first argument. It was about his departure. It wasn't that he was leaving; it was why he was leaving.
"I am not proud of this country anymore. I don't like where it is headed. It isn't the same in Europe. People are different there. If you want to see our future, look south and what is happening there."
I was taken aback. Shocked dumb.
"Leaving the country doesn't eliminate the problem; it only delays it. This isn't an isolated incidence that is limited to North America. It is happening around the world."
"No, people in Europe are hyperaware of this kind of thing. They don't stand for it," he declared.
"But something like 20% of people who voted in the last federal election in Germany voted for a party that is anti-immigration. In France, one of the main political parties has ties with the far-right. Italy has the League party, which is steadily rising in popularity and is also far-right. And England... I think Brexit pretty much says it all. This is happening everywhere."
"I can't believe I am saying this but you're being so ignorant right now. You're ignorant. And if what you say is true, I guess it's a lost cause anyway. And I'd rather be in Europe because it's 100 times better than anything here."
"I feel like you are also being ignorant. And I couldn't leave. I couldn't do that. Even if I knew it was a lost cause, I would stay. To my dying breath, I would do whatever I could to make a positive change. Even if I knew it wouldn't change the end result. I would need to know that I tried."
"One person can't change things," he said.
But he was wrong. Every great moment in history started with one person. One idea. All it takes is one. For change. For innovation. For anything. Just one.
My lust for him disappeared, in a poof, in that moment.
I do not care that I am just one person. I do not care that my efforts may never result in my goals. I do not care if it is a hopeless pursuit. This is a hill I will die on. With pleasure.