When I woke up this morning, I found myself thinking about all the things that I want to happen in 2017. Most importantly, perhaps, is finishing the four books I have in the works and getting them published and out into the world. I only published one book this year (though I’ve had short stories in other publications) and somehow, that feels weird, like I’ve been slacking off. Granted, I’ve been traveling more and trying to learn about marketing, but I’m definitely not a one-book-a-year kind of girl.
Then I began to wonder if there’s anyone out there who can actually say, “Yeah, I did everything I wanted to do in 2016. I am accomplished. I am content.” If they exist, I must admit, a part of me envies them. The other part of me, however, can’t help but wonder, “If they’re perfectly content, then what do they hope for? What drives them?”
By the way, yes, this is pretty much exactly what you get out of the book, Who Moved My Cheese?
Still, I think it’s worth noting that it’s okay to feel like you have more to accomplish. It’s okay to feel like you could have done more this year. Heck, I think that’s pretty human. Do any of us ever truly live up to our full potential? It would be wonderful if we did and I do believe we should always try our best to do so, but we shouldn’t dwell on what hasn’t happened yet either.
I love having goals, having hopes, having dreams. I love having something to work for. I’ve been this way since I was little. True, my hopes and dreams have evolved and expanded a bit since I was seven, but for the most part, I still find myself enthralled by the possibilities of the future.
There is always room for improvement. I hope that I am still striving to improve myself and the world around me in fifty years. I hope I find joy, love, peace, excitement, adventure. But in a strange way, I hope I never find contentment.