I was looking for some glue yesterday, and as such I began to sift through old boxes. (Last year, I had purchased an awesome adhesive that worked very well on cloth, and I know I wouldn't have discarded it.) I don't know where anything from my room specifically went. It's all in boxes, compartmentalized in a fashion that makes no sense to me because I wasn't the one who did it... And in my quest to find my glue, I got my hands one of my many journals. Naturally, I peeked inside...
I found task lists and goals that dated back to 2004. I wrote consistently in it until about 2005. After that, it contains only sporadic posts, the most recent one from this past June.
When I picked it up in June, I didn't reread it fully. What I did was glance back to see what I had been thinking six or seven years prior. Yesterday, though, I read through it more thoroughly, and here is what I noticed:
I accomplished every goal I had set out to accomplish. Every secret hope that I wrote about to myself came to be.
I spent years being disappointed, and feeling like a failure because I didn't accomplish more. I felt upset whenever I was told that I didn't want some things enough to make them happen. But they were right, and it was true. There were just some things I didn't care enough about; some things that I didn't really want. I got everything I aimed for. If I'm to be disappointed, it should be because those things didn't give me the happiness that I was looking for. I was wrong.
I've outgrown my dreams...
Time to find more.