I'm participating in #reverb10, a month-long challenge to blog every day of December based on prompts provided here.
Prompt: Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
(Author: Gwen Bell)
Sometime this year, I became an adult in the most correct way possible. I guess it has something to do with getting a full-time job. It was the biggest correct thing I did.
So is paying my rent on time, volunteering a couple hours a week, donating a little bit of money each month to a reputable organization, continuing studying French, being generally nice to people, eating fruits and vegetables and getting a healthy amount of exercise as well as sleep. Responsible, correct adults do those things.
All year I have been working to be a correct person in all of the ways above, and I have been doing a pretty good job. And I am proud of that. It is not easy to balance the correctness of adulthood. I am making myself grow up and that is good.
But as I strive to do a little bit of this and a little bit of that in the most correct way possible, I think I’m missing something. Like there’s a part of me that won’t let me drink too many glasses of wine after a stressful day. Or I’m not changing enough lives via my volunteering and charitable donations. Or that my steady routine of swim 2x yoga 2x a week is not challenging me enough. And that I go to French class every Thursday, but don’t work as hard as I should.
Maybe it’s passion that’s missing, or maybe it’s the sense of accomplishment. I have racked up a lot of accomplishments over the past few years, but this past year was meh in comparison. Do I need to stop comparing myself to myself? Or should I just put myself to shame and do something BIG?
I’ll probably do the second one.
This next year I will work harder to be better than correct. I need to start and finish something I can be proud of. The word that I would like to capture 2011 is complete. Watch out, because I might run 10 marathons or something.