Goals

     “Having goals kicks the shit out of me.”

     “Then don’t think of them as goals.”  Since her kids were off to school and Tony was still seeing Amber, Karen and I would occasionally get together for pizza.  Her life was stable.  She wasn’t the breadwinner in the relationship but she was no slouch.  “Think of them as steps in the right direction.”

     “I try not to think of them at all,” I said getting as much cheese as I could on the slice.

     “We both know that’s not true.  ‘Fuck that place!’  ‘They pull these numbers out of thin air!’” Karen was puffing herself up to imitate my displeasure with my old job.  “You used to bitch about it all the time.”

     “Yes, yes I did but bitching about things is not the same thing as thinking about them.  Bitching is just a way to get them off my mind.”

     “You realize that makes no sense whatsoever, don’t you?” She said running a fresh block of Parmesan over a cheese grater.

     “Uh huh,” I mumbled. “Normally the circular nature of bullshit logic gets me out of these conversations.”

     She rolled her eyes.

     “Seriously, I’ve had some time to think lately and I’ve found that setting goals was part of the problem.”

     “Go on,” I said perking up.  Slacking can be nice.  Justified slacking is better.

     “People are always setting goals for themselves then find themselves disappointed when the goal has been accomplished or worst case scenario not achieved.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, ‘Is this really it?’ Or ‘I expected more.’”

     “I’ve been there,” I said slowly grating some fresh parm onto my pizza.

     “That’s because you view the ‘goal’ as the end all to be all.  I found that if you look at it as a step or a stepping stone it’s easier to transition to the next step.  There’s always something else that needs to get done.”

     “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.  Lately it’s just been day to day.  I just kind of zone out.”

     “Maybe it’s because you’ve accomplished all the goals you thought you were supposed to and they didn’t get you what you wanted.”

     The machines skipped a beat.  “But I haven’t..”

     “You have a house don’t you?”  She asked.

     “Yes, but...”

     “You got the job at that firm, right?”

     “Yes, YES.. BUT that’s because a friend owns the firm,” I countered, my head spinning.

     “That got you in the door but you passed all those exams needed to keep the job didn’t you?”

     “Yes, but not on the first try,” I dropped the crust and clapped the crumbs from my hands.

     “You have the car you want, don’t you?”

     I felt a visceral twist of excitement in my gut.  It was like I was standing on the observation deck of the Empire State Building and looking down.  My mind was spinning.  For years I’ve spent time wondering why shitty things were happening to me while my subconscious was working to keep me on track.

     The machines fell silent.  

     “Even when you were with that job you hated...”

     “That hated me back,” I interrupted.

     “Whatever, even when you were with thatjob you were able to buy the house.

     “Maybe it’s not the goals.  Maybe the problem is your expectations of what’s supposed to happen once you accomplish said goals.”  She was ecstatic.  Her mind was moving at a million miles an hour.  She was getting rid of her pain by helping someone else get through theirs.

     “God damnit!”  I exclaimed, simultaneously realizing she was right and I had just eaten the last piece of pizza.

     “You had a theoretical term for it.  It was part of the hibernation.  Transitional, transposition,” she was snapping her fingers and staring through my soul.

     “Transformational Forward Movement,” I said feeling more weight leave my shoulders.  “It’s the reset.”

     “What would happen if you pushed it a little bit further than just a reset?  It seems like you’ve unconsciously been saving yourself from total destruction.  What if after you reset you took control of where you wanted to go?”

     The machines immediately started a slow, methodical whirring.

     “Maybe I’m projecting,” she said leaning back on the couch with her arms crossed.  “Maybe my goal should be to hibernate and reset, too,” she said shrugging her shoulders.

     “Maybe that shouldn’t be the goal,” I said, my head still spinning with possibility, “but it sure sounds like a step in the right direction.”