Milestones are for People Who are Good at To Do Lists

If you know about my job, you’d know that I’m pretty good at following up. Are people good at getting back to me? No. But I don’t care if I have to follow up with you six times. I will. I can be annoyingly persistent.

((Side note: dear all boys I’ve ever matched with on Hinge…not for you, sorry.))

But anyway, I’m great at the follow up. Except, I’ve been looking at some of my posts from last year, and I have a few “halfway check in” posts that never saw a part two. Most have stayed in my drafts, but there are a few plain old “recurring” type posts that stand alone. Plus, I didn’t even dedicate a post to telling you I successfully conned my brain into writing a 65,000 word novel in a month after popping in to give you my midway progress.

I don’t want to think about what that bodes for 2021 in comparison to 2020. Like two halves of the same dumpster fire…

Nope, I’m just here to tell you that hitting and broadcasting milestones, while fun and exciting and great for tracking progress, makes me queasy. I hate picking a favorite book of the year because it will make all the other ones “feel bad.” I didn’t want to brag about my word count (even though I’m really stoked about it) because it didn’t feel necessary. I’ve messed up month-iversaries and milestones in all my relationships, and I’m not worked up about it. I psych myself out for how the first half of my runs feel to gauge how terrible the remaining two miles will feel. Even that chirping noise when you go another lap on Mario Kart gets in my head and messes with me! (I did celebrate my bookstagram anniversary, but it was an excuse to post a picture of myself, okay. I’m incredibly vain.)

I could turn this into some kind of “New Year, New Me” speech where I lie to you and say I’m going to be better about it. But that would be wildly dishonest. There’s certainly no way I am going to undo two decades worth of work I haven’t actually put into my personality. I’d like to think this is me living in the moment. Is it really? Am I actually just lazy? No comment.

Look, I’ll be honest, I just really wasn’t in the mood to write follow up posts. I mean, wasn’t a whole fan-fiction based on Taylor Swift’s iconic reputation album enough writing for me?? I thought so. And I spend so much time writing follow up emails for work…y’all, I’m tired. Why can’t I just show my progress without being a stickler about it and slapping a label on it?

I am simply tuckered out. Aren’t we all? There are so many more important things to be thinking about right now! Also very trivial things that I have to remember for my own mental and physical health—like how I forgot to wash my mask after I came back from getting a smog check yesterday…be right back.

There really is too much to be paying attention to in the world, and, for example, trying to pick my favorite book of 2020 just didn’t feel good. Truth is, I hit a major slump in August, and I don’t even think I have a favorite. (I actually think it’s Red, White, & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston, to be honest, but I haven’t given it too much thought because it also could be Pride & Prejudice, which I reread every so often—does that even count?)

I’m calling all of last year, despite being the year I read 60 books, wrote 2 novels, survived company-wide layoff waves, went to Paris, and became a person who can run for more than 5 straight minutes, a complete wash. We’re shelving it. We’re cherry picking the good parts, and we’re putting all the bad juju away. “New Year, New Me” speeches are meaningless because we’re still figuring out our shit from the last year. Yes, we’re setting new goals, and we’re improving ourselves. We’re just not giving ourselves expiration dates to pressure us into failing.

I say all this as I give myself finite reading goals. It’s fine. We can do little ones like that. I like making lists, okay? I’m no one unless I’m making extensive and pointless lists/rankings.

So yeah, milestones aren’t my friends. Halfway marks even less so. It’s why I never check on my yearly goals (except reading ones) until December. It’s like quantifying and qualifying growth. I don’t like being tied to numbers, like the ever increasing email count in my inbox. Some things just can’t be filed away, you know? And I’m finally figuring out how to let go of those things. Those limits and details and checkpoints. Most things in life really just don’t need them.

(Btw, this does not mean you won’t be getting a Bly Manor break down. I’m currently working on it, but my binging skills are in the drain.)