“I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.”
Rabindranath Tagore’s sentiment is my life story in a nutshell. Well, not exactly. I have accomplished a few major things in my short 70 years, but I feel like my music is still ringing somewhere in the distant future.
But resolutions and goal setting were like someone pulling the covers off your bed on an icy winter morning. The comfort zone is not very comfortable anymore. I did not even want to go back and look at what I wrote in past journals or sift through the pages tucked in files to see how I did. I just gaze in the mirror to check the extra baggage around my middle and look in the closet to see the stacks of clutter I promised never to close the door on again before I cleaned them. Then there is the computer still full of unfinished books and unpublished plays.
I took solace in the computer files of articles and hopeful book ideas that have taken shape and in the kids who are walking around with grandkids of their own; but in reality, what I expected to accomplish at this stage in life are symphonies of music yet unplayed, unsung. "The dog ate my homework" is about as good of an excuse as I can give.
I want to know where time goes. I certainly do not have any stored away for that rainy day. I use every second of every minute, and I wish I had more. Actually, I do not wish I had more. I fall into bed exhausted as it is. If somebody gave me an extra 12 hours, I would fill it up with another to-do list of I-should-have-done-that-yesterday stuff. I do not even want to talk about it. I thought that after my children were raised and I retired from teaching, I would have more time. Ha! Nobody told me of the mountains of to-do lists waiting in the wings. It is a sad commentary from someone who makes her own to-do lists.
January is coming and it will deserve some homage; after all, it only comes once a year. That cute toddler dressed in ribbon only prances across the stage once and is chased off by that hobbling old man with a cane and a beard only every 365 days. So, I will take a few moments in August to think about that time of the year. When are we given permission to scribble fantastic hyperboles on the page and get away with it? April Fools, maybe? It’s not the same. On April Fools you know you are telling a little white lie. In January, you think you are being totally sincere. You fully intend to lose that weight. You fully intend to organize your house in flawless perfection where there is a place for everything and everything is in its place. You know, the old cliché resolutions everyone makes, and everyone breaks. You fully intend to do them.
I do. I used to spend about a week planning the execution of the magnificent production of the new me. I had it scheduled out to the very minute. The problem came the first day of the plan when I started walking the walk and talking the talk. The problem arose when I tried to throw off the inertia of the old me.
I was like a prisoner in my own bed. Some stranger turned off the alarm. The warm fluffy blankets tangled around my feet and the pillow weighs 1,000 lovely soft pounds. I put up a terrible fight for about two seconds before giving in to the excuse that Shakespeare penned in Macbeth: “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.”
There is a cycle that happens every year. That is why I am thinking about it in July. It all starts with the fact that I stay up all night on New Year’s Eve to welcome that cute little cherub dressed in a ribbon. I know it has to do with martyr snacking on the superb sugary foods oozing with chocolate and sugar that I will never taste again until I’m a smart size 10. It has to do with the fact that there is the party mess to clean up before the real closet cleaning commences. Yes, the dog-ate-my-homework excuses go on and on. They do not even stop when the old man with the cane hobbles across the stage 365 days later.
I have learned that it's all about eating an elephant. You know the one.
Question: How do you eat an elephant?
I don’t know who would want to eat an elephant, but in case you do, here is the answer: One bite at a time.
That's according to the experts – those people who know everything about everything and hide under the guise of the omniscient “they.” You are familiar with the omniscient they. Your teenagers quote them every time they want to do something that you do not approve of or make an excuse for something they do not want to be responsible for. You’ve heard the phrase, “They said it was all right.” Nobody, including your teenager, is quite sure who “they” refers to. Now you know.
All tongue-in-cheek aside, I read a book a couple of years ago that has made goal setting and planning a breeze. In his book Atomic Habits, James Clear said, “You don’t rise to the level of your goals. You rise to the level of your systems.” A system is made up of your habits, the tasks you choose to do every day without fail. You set tasks that are so simple that you feel foolish if you do not do them. Putting your running shoes beside your bed so you trip over them in the morning is a good example of a simple task. You do not set a goal to exercise, but the simple task is a reminder of your desire to get in shape, and you will more likely put on your shoes and exercise. You do not set a goal to exercise for 20 minutes; you set a goal to walk for one minute. That is so simple, anyone can do it. Usually, since you are already committed to one step, you do more than you intended to do. There will be days when you can only do one minute, but you keep your momentum by reaching your goal. You celebrate any progress.
In January, I decided to digitize the journals of my husband and his first wife for the kids. I committed to one page a day. I was not typing but using speech to text. It worked well, but I had to go back and edit the pages because sometimes the computer did not record me accurately. I set a goal to read one page and edit one page. By May, I had recorded eight journals that were upwards of 300 cursive-written pages. I would not have accomplished so much if I had not used James Clear’s method. Looking at the number of pages would have deterred me indefinitely. I would have used the excuse, “I can’t get started on that. It will take too much time.” But setting a goal of one page made it manageable. I knew I could do one page, and I did day after day.
I had other systems in place that focused on production rather than quantity. I read the entire Old Testament by taking a few pages a day. I have finished my mother and dad’s histories and have learned to play several easy songs on the piano. It was all done with a system of small bite-sized chunks.
Taking time to identify what you want to accomplish months before you set your resolutions is helpful. You have time to try it on and work at it. You have the data on where you will likely sabotage yourself and where you can relish in your strengths. A resolution must be something you really want, not an ambiguous I-wish-I-had or a somebody-else-did-it or someone-wants-it-for-me kind of goal. If we really want to lose those 20 pounds, we will do what it takes to prepare for success. We won’t let the warmth of the covers on a January morning dictate the elevation of success. We will recognize that slow, steady progress, no matter how small, is better than spurts of enormous effort.
The experts are right. Eating an elephant is the way to go. One easy, manageable bite at a time, and there will be few regrets when you reach the ripe old age of let’s-see-what-we-accomplished.
