Sunday, 27 November 2011


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.
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