So, it’s 4 January 2019, a brand new year, and I have just turned 34. 2019 sounded so futuristic when I was a wee teen, and 34 absolutely ancient! But here I am, two kids down and 9 stone (at least) up, grey-haired (only at the roots I’ll have you know), and trying yet again to lose the excess weight, cook and exercise more, earn more money, be a better mum/wife/colleague/sister/friend, blah blah blah. Always the same goals written down in a fresh new notebook (although there are always several old unfilled ones lying around), as if the very act of committing them to glossy paper will make them materialise; no actual hard graft needed to get to these hazy destinations, they will magically appear in my auspicious future once the pen touches paper.
I wonder how many others there are like me out there, setting goals they know deep down they don’t have the willpower/desire/time/money to actually achieve. Do we really want to reach the targets we set for ourselves each new year? Or are they the goals we are told we should be aiming for? I know I want to be a healthy weight, but I also want to eat the food I like in copious amounts. Fresh air and being in nature makes me feel happy, but I also want to sit on the sofa where my fat arse moulds comfortably into my set place. I definitely want to earn more money, but I don’t want the responsibility that comes with it (been there, done that, had the stress breakdown).
The difference though this time is that 34 somehow feels like a turning point, a kick up the bum to get on with all this. It’s almost irrelevant that I may not really want these things passionately, I just need to achieve something. But then I wonder what achieving really means. I’ve achieved things in the traditional sense – good education, 2.4 children (sorry husband but you are the 0.4), lovely parents and sisters, and stable jobs. I still don’t have my own home, but that is an ever-receding prospect I don’t hang too much hope on anymore. But I feel like a failure a lot of the time for some reason. There are some skeletons here, my life is not “perfect” whatever that means. I have debt, bouts of depression, and chronic low self-esteem exhibiting as uncontrollable emotional eating. For some reason I give more weight to these aspects of my life than the good things I guess, which is shame.
But I don’t want to be all gloomy and woe is me (I have been known to laugh and make jokes at times). This is just a typical reflective new year post I guess, so onward and upwards!