I felt like I should have done something society deems fun or adventurous, like jetting off to Thailand or hosting multiple parties in my Catskills home. The word sounded like it meant I was either a newlywed homemaker or an octogenarian. I brushed past the comment, slightly embarrassed. I was “nesting,” a coworker told me when I described my winter vacation once back at work. But the truth is that I’ve spent most of my time off baking and cooking, which not one person mentioned. I asked friends on Facebook for tips on how they go about it and I now have a list of prompts as a resource when I’m feeling uninspired. Late last year a mentor suggested that instead of focusing on my goals for 2023 I focus on infusing a sense of fun and beauty into my life. I am just different and I still don’t know how to name it. It’s like I discovered I’m actually an introvert, I recently shared with a friend, except the truth is not that simple. I feel myself wanting more quiet, more time one-on-one with a friend, more time to read poetry and be quiet and connect. In the Before Times I would have said, going out and singing karaoke, a night of dancing in the East Village or learning how to Vogue sounded like fun, and they still do, but I have a hard time grasping how to incorporate that in my post-pandemic life. I even wrote a goal to send you at least one newsletter per month, and no sooner were the words saved by Google than a paralysis of not knowing what to write set in.įun, or a lack thereof, has come up repeatedly over the past few years. The sheet feels reflective of many of my personal development and adulting goals, but somehow the deliverables still feel somewhat authoritarian and severe. Little by little, I added goals with prompts like “be healthy” (lower my blood sugar levels), “stay healthy” (schedule and show up to all of the doctor appointments recommended for a 48-year-old woman), “be IRL” (aka be less URL, meaning put down the phone and the internet), and honor self-loving boundaries (learn to listen to my needs and say no). I was sold and set out to interpret the format for my own use. It’s hard to unknow what you now know.Īt the start of this year, I came across a friendly acquaintance’s goal setting spreadsheet, a personal interpretation of the OKR (objectives and key results) system I use in my professional life. You see? I’ve figured it out.” I miss the naive certainty and drive of it all. Those years felt challenging at times, but I could point to mile markers and say, “This, this is where I achieved. In the tail end of that suspension last year, I felt at times unmoored, frequently searching for a new tool, program or guru who could show me the way back to the velocity of the years 2008-2019. I often felt suspended in this equal parts traumatic and fulfilling time, a time I struggled to quantify through previous markers of success. I required the slowness–the “ wintering ,” as coined by author Katherine May–but as I step into this year I find myself anxious to figure out what’s next and frustrated by the lack of answers. In many ways, the past few years reflected a surprisingly welcome pause of that cycle. Life was filled with the frenetic energy of achievement and accolades, and it was easy to think that the same velocity would continue throughout my life. The last time I embarked on a similar cycle, my life took off along a road of fast-moving growth filled with external validation and prosperity. My 2023 horoscope forecasts a new 12 year cycle of expansion and success.
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