I am used to living without goals. Getting home safe at the end of the day is enough of a challenge anyway.
And there is a part of me that likes living beneath plans and to-do lists and success. Part of my mind that works best when I am walking around at 2 a.m. and my eyes are half-closed and I am no one going nowhere.
We talked about goals when I was in treatment earlier this year. I said I could see myself with some kind of future. It was the first time I had seen such a thing in a long time. It was an interesting sensation, a kind of energy in my limbs. My life has had a series of these moments, little bubbles of light. If there is a trick to sustaining them, I do not know what it is.
Here’s a secret: there is a parallel universe with a person in it who reaches out to others with experiences like hers. She does research that improves people’s lives. She sees problems and defines them clearly and connects with others and builds solutions. She is a person who lives in the world.
It’s not even a goal. Goals are too dangerous, too slippery, too unreal.
But there are times when I feel so, so close to being her. Or just feeling like I could be her.
It’s a treasure itself, just this feeling.