Forget New Year's resolutions. Twelve months? At my age, that feels like two weeks. Not nearly enough time to reach for the stars. My new plan, uncovered this evening, allows me four whole years. So by the next leap year, my mission(s) should be accomplished.
First on my list is to stop falling down, at least physically. I've decided to quit seeing this as an impossible goal (due to my keystone cop-esque ineptitude) and begin viewing it as a decision. Ergo, no more falling down. I'm done with it. I made it all the way home tonight on very slippery roads. So.
In four years, I plan to be ten pounds lighter. When you break it down, that's less than three pounds a year. Very doable. If I tried to make it happen in twelve months I'd be up eating cheese at three in the morning, with a glass of wine or two on the side. Don't drink without eating...that's always been my motto. But this kind of pacing, four years worth, it will work for sure.
I like the idea of a leap. A decision to go for what I really want. Since I'm not quite sure about all of my end goals, four years gives me a little time to figure it out. Some things are too secret to share (even for me) but I promise that in 2020, I will give you all a full report.
And please... join me. Make a wish for things that feel so far out of reach, they're practically impossible. Believe you can make them happen. Take a picture of them with your mental smartphone. Now, see yourself taking the hand of a friend. Then take my hand. We'll head over to the cliff edge together, our pockets filled with dreams of things we never dared to hope for. If we leap together, they have a better chance of coming true. I don't know what you're wishing, but I'm very excited about not falling down anymore. What do you really want by 2020? Figure it out, then come on. One, two, three. Jump.