My 2020 S.M.A.R.T. Goals
I had a great plan to kick off 2020. Since Meghan and I couldn’t be together at midnight (she was performing a holiday show with Second City and I was performing with Hot Seat at iO [R.I.P.]), I cooked up a plot to host a 3 A.M. celebratory feast. Before I left for the theater, I prepped the ingredients for Alison Roman’s “butcher’s steak”, and stuck a bottle of champagne on ice. How romantic!
However, I failed to account for one variable that every improviser worth their free show drink should have seen coming from a mile away: How hammered drunk I’d get after the show. We bombed and then got bombed. We ate shit in front of a half full Del Close Theater (again, R.I.P) for a group of boozed up regular Joes and Janes who realized at about 10:35 P.M. that the last thing they wanted to do on New Year’s Eve was watch a 10:30 P.M. improv show. I can’t blame them. But, improv is about nothing if not collaboration, so we laughed it off by working together to find the bottom of a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Three drinks past two drinks too many, I came home ready to put the finishing touches on my romantic twilight dinner. I popped the champagne, threw the steak on the stove, and then, nearing the finish line, plunged a chef’s knife straight into a hunk of my thumb that appeared to be masquerading as a bit of jalapeno. My thumb bled…a lot. I panicked. While the steak overcooked, Meghan and I debated whether I should go to the E.R. (I said yes [I’m Jewish], Meghan said no [she’s normal]). By the time the bleeding subsided, the feast was a calamity. Little did we know, it was less incident than omen.
For those who have read my S.M.A.R.T. goals recaps in year’s past, welcome back to this now annual exercise. For those who are confusedly reading this for the first time, I’ll briefly explain the purpose of this post. Starting four years ago, I began to use the corporate goal-setting framework known as “S.M.A.R.T.” (Specific, Measureable, Attainable, Relevant, Time-sensitive) in my personal life. At the end of 2016, which had seen me spend the better part of a year wading depressingly through the cesspool of political Twitter, I felt like I needed more structure to motivate less toxic behaviors. So I used the S.M.A.R.T. framework to prompt actions related to things like reading, cooking, and exercise that I felt would prove more satisfying than night after night spent gawking at strangers’ Twitter arguments. It worked! While I still overindulge in the internet (particularly Twitter and Gchat), having other focal points accompanied by specific, behavioral goals has been a boon for me.
Each year, I issue myself a public report card here. This comes from both my instinct for performance and attention-seeking (what do you think got me on that improv stage!?), as well as a real hope that what has helped me might help others in similar ways.
Needless to say, 2020 has been the most challenging year since I started employing S.M.A.R.T. goals. The virus’ spread rendered some goals impossible, and others unimportant. Things that seemed relevant on January 1 felt trivial three months later. I set more goals than ever before, but they were designed to suit a lifestyle that has changed in some fundamental ways. I had originally grouped my goals in what I felt was a clever and broadly-encompassing set of categories: Mind, Body, Spirit, Community, and Finances. Based on the events that actually transpired in 2020, I’m going to ultimately present them in a different manner: The Good, The Bad, and The Obsolete.
Before I do that, I usually dedicate a few paragraphs to a general annual life recap. This is normally the space where I recap travel highlights and other significant life developments that occurred over the previous 12 months. In the past, those updates have included things like getting engaged, getting married, adopting a dog, buying a home, and travelling to various parts of the world to see friends, celebrate their milestones, or just generally explore. This year…um …how do I say this…there’s been…well, let’s see…not much happened. I’ve spent most of the last nine months shuttling back and forth between my home office and living room, occasionally interrupting that routine with dog walks, dinner and rounds of golf. It’s not a routine they write novels or make action movies about. So, rather than a broad life recap, in the spirit of gratitude, I’d like to just share a few things and people from 2020 that I am especially grateful for.
1. Meghan — What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t start with gratitude to my wife, with whom I spent approximately 10,000 of 2020’s 8,760 available hours. This was an inordinately hard year — especially Second City’s suspension of live performances — but she has often made me laugh so hard I cried. Especially when she described her desire to create a “National Doppelganger Registry” where people worldwide could search for their doppelgangers as a way of, “uniting the country.” She presents this idea repeatedly and with earnest conviction. Thank God for her.
2. Thome — What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t follow gratitude to my wife with gratitude to my dog. She’s legitimately crazy (something’s not right in her head), but she’s my weirdo and I love her immensely. I don’t know what I’d have done this year if I couldn’t go upstairs 100x each day to give her short, spastic bursts of pets.
3. Winnemac Park & the Winnemac Park Crew — This year has greatly deepened my appreciation for the importance of public parks, especially in city environments. We’re fortunate to have one of Chicago’s best and most underrated parks a few blocks away, and doubly lucky to have several close friends who also live in walking distance. I wish I had more pictures from Winnemac Park or had a data point I could site that captured how often I visited this space in 2020. Between dog walks and social visits, there were many days I found myself at Winnemac three or four times. I’d guess I entered the park at least 500 times this year, and likely far, far more. Here’s a picture of our lil’ Winny gang. We spent many a summer evening on these laws, and I treasured those little respites from the house. Even when the pandemic ends, I hope that the park maintains its place in our lives. I love it there, and all these people here very much.
4. Golf — The awfulness of this pandemic experience improved meaningfully for me when Illinois lifted its closure of golf courses on May 1st. I cannot say enough how lucky I feel that a thing I love doing so intensely was one of the few hobbies permitted to thrive throughout this pandemic. I played a LOT of golf this year. 53 full 18 hole rounds, plus a couple of partial rounds that didn’t make y spreadsheet. I played some of the best golf of my life, and a lot that left much to be desired. I started the year as an 8 handicap and ended it as one too. But the journey back to where I started was spectacular and I’m thankful it occurred.
5. My golf pals — A strange feature of my psyche is that at the end of every major phase of my life, I have been sure that I’d never make any more meaningful friendships. When high school ended, I was certain my high school friends would be the only true friends I’d ever know. When college ended, I was equally certain that I’d NOW permanently filled out my friend roster. Comedy proved my hunch wrong again, but I suspected this time, it was truly the end of the line. And for a while, I finally seemed to be correct. Over the last several years, as I fell into a familiar routine, my high school, college and improv friends have made up my full and complete social universe. For better or worse, I believed I had at last settled on my final set of friendships. Then this year, thanks to my involvement in the NewClub Golf Society in Chicago, for the first time in a long time, new friendships thundered into my life. In a year like 2020, having new friendships sprout up, deepen, and expand has been a massive bright spot.
6. Baker Miller and RuffHaus — When your world shrinks in size, the things that remain take on added significance. Having local businesses where you feel a #morethantransactional connection can be a real source of joy and positivity. For us, that’s been Baker Miller, a bakery, restaurant and coffee shop in Lincoln Square, and the nearby pet store, RuffHaus. Baker Miller has been a shining example of a small business that’s been both resilient and safe. They turned their front window into a takeout counter for both live and pre-ordered pickups, they created a “bread line” delivery service, and they keep a stock of biscuit bites as dog treats for visiting pups. Similarly, RuffHaus always remembers Thome by name and has treats for her ready at hand. Having two welcoming businesses we can visit regularly has given us a small routine we’ve relied on and treasured this year. Here’s a picture of Thome at the Baker Miller window awaiting her treat.
7. My job — If 2020 didn’t make you appreciate your job, what will? The spring months at work were surreal and painful. I’ve never experienced anything quite like the daily need to find ways to simply put one foot in front of the other while the world sorted itself out. I’ve learned a lot this year and have a much deeper appreciation for all the things a job provides.
8. Joe Biden — People use the term Trump Derangement Syndrome jokingly, but it’s very real. I know that, because I have it. I’m not being dramatic or hyperbolic in saying that my loathing for Trump has altered me in permanent ways. This entire S.M.A.R.T. goals program was born out of the sense of emptiness and despair I felt following the 2016 election. Over the course of the last four years, Trump has cast a shadow over everything. Just his looming, awful Trumpness has soured my feeling about many things I have loved. I am aware of Biden’s shortcomings as a candidate and President-elect. He was not necessarily my first (second, or even third) choice in the primary field (#Klobuchar2020). And I have struggled at points to fully celebrate his victory because I find Trump’s enduring support utterly depressing, distressing and disgusting (the Three Ds of Derangement). However, I will be grateful to Joe Biden forever for merely pushing Trump a bit further away from my second-by-second consciousness.
9. My nephew, Holden. When 2020 started, my nephew Holden was a 16 month old with just the first inklings of verbal ability. Today, he’s a 28 month old who talks ceaselessly. Here’s a picture of Holden being a blissfully unaware that he has no idea who Donald Trump is.
Ok, 1,786 words later, let’s get into the goals themselves.
Below is a snapshot of the goals I set for this year and what transpired: The Good, The Bad and the Obsolete.
THE GOOD
Adopting a more meatless diet
When I think about where my goals program has really yielded considerable change in my life over the last four years, it’s primarily in the following areas: it prompted me to learn to cook, it has helped me slowly but methodically lose weight, and it has transformed my diet to be more environmentally responsible. When this goals program started, I ate meat so mindlessly, I could barely quantify the amount I was consuming. If you had asked me at the time, I would have labeled myself a “moderate” meat eater. Then if you asked me what I ate that day, I’d be likely to say a ham, egg & cheese sandwich from Starbucks for breakfast, a turkey sandwich from Potbelly’s for lunch, and roasted chicken legs from Sukur’s Place for dinner. (Remember, at this point I stored sweaters in my oven and spent approximately $1.2M a year on takeout.) (Also, please order delivery from Sukur’s Place. If they go out of business during the pandemic I’ll be inconsolable and I can’t afford to keep them going by myself.)
I was stunned to realize how much of our personal carbon footprint owes to meat consumption. While I don’t expect I’ll ever convert to full vegetarianism, prior to 2017, I frequently ate meat I barely liked out of nothing but force of habit and lack of imagination. My goal in this has always been to become more environmentally friendly by simply replacing mindless meat consumption with appealing meatless alternatives. At first I focused simply on breakfasts and lunches, where most of my “mindless meat” was consumed. Over the last two years, I’ve expanded that to increasingly include dinners.
This year, I set out to have 250 meatless day times (roughly five days a week), and 150 fully meatless days (roughly three days a week). I ultimately had 252 meatless day times (meaning pre-dinner), earning an A grade, and 148 meatless dinners, earning a B grade. The B grade may seem harsh, but mostly reflects my loss of pace on the goal throughout the year. Over the four quarters, my meatless days declined from 47 to 38 to 32 to 31 days, respectively.
Overall, I’m pleased with my progress here. I really have transformed my diet over the last 4 years. I’d guess I’ve conservatively reduced my meat consumption by about 75 percent. In addition to the environmental benefits that inspired this goal, it has helped me lower my cholesterol, lose weight, and feel better.
My struggles with meatlessness remain the same year over year. For instance, should I suffer an accidental death, it’s likely to be because I choked on a six ounce bite of spaghetti while a sobbing Meghan pleads, “Smaller, so you can chew!” Pasta is my true weakness. Nevertheless, I’ve discovered several staple dinners that I find truly delicious and can make over and over again without complaint. Here’s a few of those.
· Spicy white bean stew with broccoli rabe
· Ramen with charred scallions and green beans
Reading 20 Books
One row on my book shelf is dedicated to my absolute favorite books. By just a weird run of luck, 2019 saw five (five!!) additions to that shelf: Middlesex, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Goldfinch, A Visit from the Goon Squad, and The Elegance of the Hedgehog. It was unlikely a year like that would repeat itself and, well, it didn’t. I read several books this year that I liked very, very much, but probably none that will find a place on “The Shelf”.
Nevertheless, I set out to read 20 books this year and landed on that number exactly. Some were long, dense, and heavy. Others were thin, light and fun. Most importantly, there was never a sustained stretch this year where I wasn’t reading something.
If were to recommend one book I read from 2020, it’d be…
· Exhalation, by Ted Chiang. I am not normally a science fiction person, but this is the best example of the genre I’ve ever encountered. While it is wildly imaginative in terms of envisioning future technologies, it handles those technologies with a matter of fact tone that I greatly enjoyed (as opposed to the sort of nerdy tech worship you often see if other form of sci fi). More importantly, the book does an amazing job conceiving of the types of really difficult moral and emotional situations these technologies would cause us to confront. There are three particular stories in here I don’t think I’ll ever shake or forget.
If I were to recommend three books I read from 2020, they’d be…
· Pachinko, by Min Jin Lee. I love multi-generational immigrant stories. When they’re told well, there’s nothing quite like experiencing historical progression through the eyes of well-constructed characters. This is why I loved Middlesex last year, and why I loved Pachinko this year. I had very little sense of what early 20th century Japanese colonial rule in Korea consisted of before reading this book, nor how badly Koreans have been treated in Japan historically. While no individual character was as compelling in Pachinko as Callie, Desdemona or Milton were for me in Middlesex, it’s a must read.
· Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche. It took me about 75 pages to get my bearings in this book, especially the early portion of the story set in Nigeria, but once the story shifted to the U.S. and London, I absolutely devoured this story. Whereas Pachinko tells the type of multi-generational story I love, Ifemelu provides a character akin to Callie in Middlesex who is just portrayed in an emotionally pitch perfect way. There are two particular scenes from this book that are burned into my brain.
Other books I enjoyed and would recommend unequivocally …
· The Secret History, by Donna Tartt
· Trick Mirror, by Jia Tolentino
· A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles
· White Fragility, by Robin DiAngelo
· The Great Believers, by Rebecca Makkai
· Deacon King Kong, by James McBride
Other books I read that I might or might not recommend, depending on the situation…
· The Shell Collector, by Anthony Doerr
· The Privileges, by Jonathan Dee
· Eat Joy, by various authors
· And the Band Played On, by Randy Shilts
· Out East, by John Glynn
· The Lehman Trilogy, by Stefano Masini
· The Virgin Suicides, by Jeffrey Eugenides
· Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro
· The Vanishing Half, by Brit Bennett
· A Long Way Down, by Nick Hornby
Breaking 80 in Golf
As mentioned earlier, golf was a tonic to so many of 2020’s struggles. I played a LOT, and a lot of it poorly. I started the season with a trip to Florida in which I played absolutely awfully, then picked that shitty form right back up when the weather warmed here. I actually got so dejected, I decided to take my first golf lesson in 20 years. After shooting an 89 that felt a lot worse during a NewClub tournament at Ravisloe in July, I stuck my tail between my legs and dragged myself to see Max Evans. Max made some tweaks, and more importantly, just gave me something new — and inherently less negative — to think about. The next day, I drove up to Kenosha to play Kenosha Country Club, a great, recently restored Donald Ross course in Wisconsin.
Each year, I aim to bank at least one sub-80 round. At that point, I wasn’t even sniffing those kinds of numbers. Over the previous month, my scores had been 83–92–84–89–85–82–85–89. The 82 was from the grandpa tees. Things were feeling bleak, and my expectations couldn’t be lower.
Luckily, I was playing with great guys on a course other friends had been intensely hyping. I figured it’d be nothing worse than fun, if perhaps a bit demoralizing. On the first hole. I hit a weak spinning drive into the right rough. From there, I chunked a 9 iron that failed to clear a tree and landed 100 yards short of the green. The familiar feeling of defeat was already encroaching. But whattya know, just as hope was abating, I hit a three quarter pitching wedge to about a foot from the hole and saved an unlikely par. After that, I can’t remotely describe quite what happened. It felt out of body.
I’m not exaggerating when I say I walked off the 18th green feeling delirious. Over the next 10 minutes, I sat in my car and sent somewhere between 2,000 and 7,000 text messages. It’s not an exaggeration to say that about 30 people were informed of this round within 15 minutes of its completion. I don’t feel even a shred of shame about that.
I mean this very earnestly when I say that I hope every person who loves golf has a similarly surreal day at some point. I focus so much mental energy on the quest to break 80, and nearly always find ways to come up just short (I shot 80 or 81 seven times after this round, never again breaking 80). With so many near misses, I’ve genuinely wondered if I had a round like this in me, or if I had already played the best golf I ever would. To score in the mid-70s just once feels like a payoff for years of heartbreaks. I know those of you who don’t play golf are rolling your eyes so hard your brain might break, but at least a few of you are nodding knowingly.
Walking
This post is already outrageously long, and we’ve still got a long ways to go, so I won’t try to contrive a grand point out of my experience walking this year. Last year, I averaged a little more than 10,000 steps a day. This year, I set out to average closer to 11,000 steps a day, which totals approximately 4,015,000 over the course of 12 months. With gyms shut down, regular golf, and a dog who loves to sniff and pee, I blew past this fairly easily. I averaged more than 11,700 steps a day, totaling 4.28 million steps. Grade A here.
Haircuts and Dentist
When I was a kid, my mom insisted I get my haircut at ladies salons. As result, during my haircuts, I was typically surrounded by middle aged Jewish women discussing their husbands’ pain-in-the-assness and their kids’ failures to appreciate that they just want what’s best for them. The haircuts dragged on for nearly an hour, and typically involved several prolonged breaks for the hairdressers and all nearby clients to discuss various romantic entanglements for several minutes at a time. The phrase I remember hearing most was, “Honey, there are some things about him you just can’t change.” While my friends went to cool, old timey barber shops to get $15 cuts in 20 minutes while staring at Playboys and talking about the Indians, I got to hear how Esther’s daughter Rachel’s new boyfriend is being non-committal about Hannukah.
As result, I hate getting my haircut. Which is unfortunate, because I really need frequent haircuts. My hair grows fast and in strange manners. Finally, in 2019, I found a great barber who I genuinely don’t mind (my highest compliment). Shout out to Tara at Esquire Barber Shop in Andersonville. I strive to bite the bullet five times a year, and landed right on the number.
Similarly, as someone who finds small talk exhausting and doesn’t love being touched, the dentist is a miserable experience for me. But go, I must, so go, I did. Moving along to “The Bad” now.
THE BAD
Completing one major creative endeavor
For those of you returning readers, this is becoming a now annual “F” in my grading. In some ways, failing to complete a creative undertaking in 2020 was both understandable and excusable. With live performances shut down, the possibility of staging a new show was eliminated. And with work thrown into so much tumult (particularly in the spring and summer), it made logical sense to focus my energies more exclusively in that direction.
While I wish I could gladly accept those excuses, I think my failure to generate creative momentum this year goes deeper, sadly. For several years, improv has been a creative “quick fix”. Two or three times a week I could show up with 15 minutes to spare and not an ounce of preparation, rev up the engine, take her for a spin, get a jolt of satisfaction from the sound of audience laughter, and head home feeling juuuuuuust enough catharsis.
If ever there were a year where I needed to find a new creative outlet, it was this one. After doing 100 to 150 improv shows a year for a decade, doing zero for nine months (and counting) has certainly left a gap. You can explain the gap a million ways over, but it’s still there.
Unfortunately, I think a lot of my creative stagnancy comes from a psychological uneasiness about my age and whether I’m too old to be messing around with this stuff. I think that’s an anxiety every creative person over 30 who doesn’t make a living from their art feels on a constant basis.
I wish I knew how to quiet that voice in my head, but I don’t. For 2021, I might be better off focusing on how to make peace with the reality — and acceptability — of being a non-professional creative type. Rationally, there’s no shame in it. I am surrounded by many, many people who cheer me on in making stuff (even this wildly self-indulgent annual post), and I know it’s on me to distance myself from the few people who don’t. But rationality is an underdog against insecurity, so we’ll see where I’m at a year from now.
Losing 16 pounds
This is a goal that straddles the line between the good and the bad. I started the year aiming to see a number on a scale I haven’t laid eyes on since I was probably 23. After four years of slowly and methodically losing weight, the idea of crossing that threshold excited me.
And entering Q4, I had a shot! I was down 8 pounds for the year, meaning that with a fall push, I could still achieve my goal. Instead, I ate my weight in stuffing over Thanksgiving, and developed a nasty habit of grabbing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s “Americone Dream” on each trip to the grocery store. I ended Q4 exactly where I started.
I’m a slow, steady type. I’ve lost 30 pounds over the last 48 months. It’s an amazing combination of significant but invisible progress, like watching a snail walk itself to a bus station. I’d love to finally get across that magic number, but I’m afraid that if I deviate from the way I’ve approached things, I’ll risk a backslide. Maybe this is the year!
Meditate 200 times
When I close my eyes and picture the man I want to be, I’m a guy who meditates. I’m seated on the floor of a wood paneled room full of cool looking books and my eyes are closed. I weigh 180 pounds. Last night, the Indians swept the Twins. It’s exactly 6:15 in the morning and I’ve already worked out and showered. I just had my morning tea (in this scenario, I’m a tea drinker, even though I currently drink between zero and one cups of tea a year). Now, it’s time for me to meditate.
I close my eyes and drift into a place of elevated consciousness. My mind is clear. I’m not worried about whether I left the shower running (did I?) or whether I forgot to turn the burner off under the tea kettle (totally possible, I should go check). I’m not wondering whether my first meeting is at 9, even though I already checked and confirmed three times. I am on an elevated plane.
This is why I started 2020 by spending $59.99 purchasing a subscription to a meditation app. My goal was to adopt a habit of meditating at least four times a week, or roughly 200 times for the year. This may seem ambitious for a guy who had never before successfully completed a single mediation, but what am I if not an ambitious guy!?
So, I set off on my journey…which proved to be a spectacular failure. Within a minute of every attempt I made at meditating, I began to wonder: Is the stove on? Is the shower running? Why can’t the Indians find a single decent left fielder? What’s that sound upstairs? Is Trump more stupid or evil? Does the dog need to go out? I wonder what’s happening on Twitter…
Now, the meditators in my life are quick to tell me that it’s a process of slowly re-training the brain. I believe them. But honestly, I just don’t think it’s for me. F for 2020, eliminated for 2021.
Make 200 to-do lists
I find to-do lists incredibly helpful. I know that about myself. When I make a to-do list, I’m less likely to forget about work assignments and more likely to stay get things done quickly around the house.
The problem is, I’ve never formed a habit around utilizing to-do lists. I’ll make them each morning for a week, then not make one for two months. My hope this year was to finally adopt a real habit around this. I didn’t.
While I did make more to-do lists than ever before, I didn’t do it with anything remotely resembling routine cadence or discipline. The easy thing is to think I simply haven’t cracked the code technologically. It’s easy to think that there’s a needle in haystack waiting for me in the app store that will grease this habit into formation. More likely, the app will work when I can sort myself out to let it. Will definitely attempt this again this year.
Make 30 birdies
On a trip to Florida last January, I found myself about 210 yards from the hole on a par 4 with a large pond to the left of the green. It’s a distance I could certainly reach the green from, but as I’m holding a hybrid in my hand, all I can see in my head are snap hooks into the water and push-fades into the trees on the right. So, I grabbed a 6 iron and laid the ball up to a safe area about 40 yards short of the green.
My friend J., genuinely disappointed, turned, shook his head solemnly and said, “Come on, man. You’re too young to lay up.”
He’s right. I’m too young to lay up on par 4s. On the flight back to Chicago (this is back when flying places and having fun were still a thing) I resolved to make 2020 the year of aggressive play. I know that one of the (many) reasons I struggle to lower my scores is because I just don’t make nearly enough birdies. A big part of that is that I’m too worried about protecting bogey. It’s a great way to shoot 84 but a terrible way to shoot 77.
So, this was the year of more aggressive play. I tried hitting driver just about everywhere, and I hit a lot of terrible 3-woods trying to force the issue on many par 5s. The results were awful for a long time. Atrocious. Like, amazingly so.
From the time golf season opened in Chicago on May 1, it took me seven weeks — 12 rounds (12!!) — to make a single god forsaken birdie. Just terrible.
Luckily, once I made one, they started to trickle in. I started to hit the ball better, play better, and give myself some more chances. After going 12 rounds without a birdie, I made 24 over my next 38 rounds. Not where I want to be but a step in the right direction. I’d love to reliably make one a round.
Join a satisfying board
Becoming involved with some sort of civic or advocacy organization has been a goal for me for several years. Initially, I was involved with the Illinois Environmental Council. The organization is great, but the Young Professionals focus was mostly on networking for people who work in the environmental sector with a bit of fundraising.
I switched to the Young Professionals Board for the Greater Chicago Food Depository. I love the organization and want to stay involved, but it’s a behemoth and it’s hard to feel very connected.
This was a hard year to get involved with a new organization, given that things like meetings currently don’t exist. For this reason, this sort of straddled the line between “The Bad” and “The Obsolete”.
This year, I’m especially focused on trying to find an organization that works to clean and improve public parks, especially those in struggling neighborhoods. More to come!
THE OBSOLETE
I won’t belabor The Obsolete, since they’re, well…obsolete. It’s hard to learn much from something that’s been rendered irrelevant.
Visit the gym 105 times
I’m honestly not sure whether my gym is currently open. It was open, then it was closed, then it was open again, then it closed again I think? Who knows.
Wake up by 6:30 200 times
In normal circumstances, I have learned that I need to be up by 6:30 A.M. in order to work through a morning routine that gets me on a train by 8:15 and feeling good about the day. Since I’ve only been in my office once since March, the pressures on my morning routine have, um, dissipated? Is that the right word? I’m trying to say, time is a construct we no longer need, it’s just us and the virus.
Spend less than $X on my credit card
We changed how we managed our finances so while we actually achieved a lot of our financial goals this particular one became impossible.
Dial back Gchat
Just as I imagine it’d be hard to tell a smoker to give up cigarettes during a breakup, the idea that I’d quit Gchat while stuck in my basement office for nine months (and counting) is farfetched. I’ll revisit this when I’m vaccinated.
CONCLUSION
My whole life, it’s felt like my generation has been waiting for The Event That Would Define Us. As powerfully and lastingly as the financial crisis of 2008 has influenced us, I never viewed it as definitive. The pandemic has been.
Between COVID, the Black Lives Matter movement, and the election, this truly uttered a reckoning. We’ve learned tremendously about ourselves as individuals — what we want out of life, what we value, who really constitutes our most valued relationships. And, sadly, we learned about ourselves as a society. In developing vaccines and mobilizing our frontline healthcare workers, we’ve shown we can do incredible things. In refusing to wear masks, practice responsible social behaviors, or sacrifice traditional ideas of things like vacations, holidays, and sports, we’ve also learned that our collective will to accomplish anything together is depressingly lacking.
For better and worse, it’s certainly been instructive. As always, how these goals have stood up to unforeseen circumstances has taught me a lot. Successes and failures both gave me a clearer sense of who I am and brought me a few steps closer to my best self. If you employed similar goals last year, or will this coming year, I hope they have the same impact on you.
Have a great year. And as always, thank you for reading (or skimming) this.
Chandler
