Learning from “Dumb” Goals
I always figured that if I had something I legitimately wanted to change, I would certainly not make a NYR regarding it, because that would be pre-determining failure for the thing I actually cared about.
I always figured that if I had something I legitimately wanted to change, I would certainly not make a NYR regarding it, because that would be pre-determining failure for the thing I actually cared about.
My favorite picture in the whole world: my maternal grandparents in their Sunday best, walking down a street. It’s a black-and-white picture, and to this day, I’m not entirely sure how they had it taken.
I thought it was bad my first day in the department when a woman came in, lifted up her shirt, and said “I like this bra. Can you find me another one?”
It’s Tuesday evening at the Southeast YMCA, and my squats are getting shallower. Cindi, the weight-training instructor, wanders through the crowded room, counting reps, shouting encouragement.
I can bike down each of Vienna’s alleys. I can scrape my elbow on any number of her streets. Still, the city will never be completely mine.
Every year, the Romans made promises to the god, Janus (hence January), who was often depicted as two-faced: one facing front and one facing back.
I decided to be an astronomer at age ten. I am an astronomer now because God is gracious and I am stubborn. It is because of the former, and in spite of the latter, that I am also a Calvin alum.
The chord sounds a little different—less jaded and sweeter but less sappy—and I’m really glad. Glad to know I’ve changed and glad that a book has changed with me.
I don’t like resolutions because they are either so small as to be accomplished in a couple months or so general as to be forgotten within the same amount of time.