I used to hate the word goals. I think my antipathy for goals began at the tender age of twelve, when I was introduced to the Young Women's Personal Progress Program. Personal progress always seemed so tedious to me. I would put off my goals until the last week or two before New Beginnings (the recognition night for the acheivement of said goals). Mom would always discover that I hadn't started on the goals and would force me to sit down and immediately make plans to finish them in time. This always seemed like such a tedious process to me. Did I really care what the definition of integrity was? Did I really need to write in my journal examples of times I had shown faith in my life? Without exception, I would end up picking the shortest and easiest goals to complete--ones like telling your mom you love her or doing an anonymous good deed for someone (I could always find someone's bed to make and have that completed in five seconds.) As far as I was concerned, goals were just another checklist to mark off as fast as possible so Mom would stop nagging me. I remember thinking with great relish "I can't wait until I'm out of Young Women and I never have to set another goal again!"
Obviously I realized the fallacies of this logic fairly quickly. Even after Young Women I found that there were times I still needed to set goals. When I started college, Mom helped me set goals to be more social and talk to people in my classes and at church. Dad "encouraged" me to set goals to earn enough money to pay for my year at the dorms myself, and later to pay for my mission myself (an encouragement I admittedly didn't appreciate at the time, but afterward was grateful for it). Begrudgingly, I had to admit that goal-setting didn't end with the presentation of my Young Women Medallion.
In spite of my continued efforts to set goals, my true conversion to goal-setting didn't happen until I became a missionary. As part of the missionary rules, missionary companionships were required to set goals we wanted to acheive for the transfer, the week, and the day. In addition, we were encouraged to work on personal goals individually. At first I found this annoying, tedious, and time-consuming, but as I began setting and acheiving personal goals, I was surprised to find that I actually liked it.
In the missionary guide, Preach My Gospel, in the section under goal-setting, it says:
"Goals reflect the desires of our hearts and our vision of what we can accomplish. . ."
"The ultimate measure of success is not in acheiving goals alone, but in the service you render and the progress of others." Reading this gave me a fresh perspective on the purpose of goals. Contrary to my twelve-year-old impressions, goals are not a torture-device created by parents to make their teenage daughters miserable. Goals actually make me happier. I love the satisfaction of knowing that I have set a goal and actually made it. It gives me hope and makes me want to try better. As Preach My Gospel says, "through goals, our hopes are transformed into action."
Lately I have been feeling a little bit down-- just not as happy as I'd like to be. It seems like life has become a boring trudge down the same barren paths-- school, work, school, work, etc. So, after some reflection I decided that maybe what I need is some new goals to brighten my perspective and give me fresh hope. With that in mind I came up with 3 new goals for myself:
1. Go to bed by 11pm every night. (This one will be the hardest, but I really want to do it. As motivation, I've promised to reward myself with a new haircut if I can stick with it for a week.)
2. Read scriptures before nighttime. (I always read them right before bed, and I'm always too sleepy to get much out of them. Time for a change.)
3. Write in my journal every day.
Already I'm more excited just thinking about these goals (and not just because of the prospect of a cute new haircut). It will be fun to see how my live improves from these few simple steps. At any rate, I'm off to a good start-- I already acheived two of them (scripture study and journal writing) for today. Now if I can just make it into bed on time-- I can picture the new haircut already!
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Goals
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Moving messes
Why is moving always such a pain?
I should be getting fairly good at packing by now-- between all my mission transfers and apartment switches I think this is at least the fourteenth time I've packed everything up in the last three years. In spite of all that experience, it never seems to get any more enjoyable. It never ceases to amaze me how much junk I manage to cram into half of an apartment room, a bathroom cupboard, and a kitchen cupboard. Somehow it doesn't seem fair that all that stuff multiplies like rabbits. It seems like every time I'm congratulating myself on finally putting together a stash of bags for D.I., it's suddenly time to start all over again. One of my mission companions used to say that when she got old and lived alone, all she wanted was a rug, a spoon and a plate. That was it. No mess, no materialism, just simple peaceful solitude.
As much as I'd like my mess to diminish overnight, I'm not sure I'm ready to go that extreme. After all, how could I do without my computer? Or my cell phone? Or my many books? Or my stack of every letter I ever received on my mission? (Okay, fine, maybe I could do without that one!)
I guess I'm not ready to completely give up all my material possesions yet. But, I guess everyone has their weakness. I guess what I really need is a bag like Merlin has, on the Disney film, The Sword and the Stone. No matter how much clutter he has in his tower, somehow it all fits into one small bag. Just a wave of his wand and everything flies neatly into the satchel. Wouldn't that make packing so much simpler?
Friday, December 7, 2007
Guess Kim's Age
When it comes to height, not everyone in this world is evenly blessed. The rest of my family falls into the 5'5"-5'10" range of average or tall. Not me. I'm the Wilson anomoly.
Measuring in at barely 5'0 (5' 1/8" on a good day), I have a disturbing ability to fit into clothing from the "Misses" section at the department stores. I can remember growing up how much I hated our regular height-measuring sessions. Dad used to get out a level (we have to be absolutely precise on such important measurements!) and measure to see how tall we were growing. Then, he would mark a line on the wall, indicating our height. The first few times I dashed over with my siblings, excitedly demanding that Dad check my height too. It didn't take long for me to lose my enthusiasm for this ritual. You can only measure so many times how much you haven't grown before it gets really monotonous.
Not only am I short, but I have the baby face to fit my height. When I was a kid, one of my favorite games to play with visitors was "Guess Kim's Age." Suffice it to say, we had a lot of very embarrased guests by the end of that game. In my defense, I had to do something to ease the annoyance of being constantly mistaken for Becca's younger sister.
Well, eventually I grew up, but I didn't grow taller. The funny thing about getting older is that I find myself initiating the "Guess Kim's Age" game less and less. I don't have too. People everywhere take the initiative to bumble my age without my having to worry about encouraging it on. I've had a few good laughs over some of my favorite responses to "Guess Kim's Age." Here are just some of the memorable age guesses I have received over the years:
1. At Excalibur, the hotel we stayed at in Las Vegas over Thanksgiving break, we decided to check out the weight room one morning. My dad, my fifteen-year-old sister, Heather, and I headed down to see what they had. At the front desk, we asked about the weight room. The lady at the desk began rattling off "The weight room costs $20, and you have to be at least eighteen years-old, so these two couldn't go."
2. At the beginning of November I went to the polls to vote in our local election. When I stepped up to the booth and told them my name, the lady at the desk said. "You don't look old enough to vote!"
3. On my mission, in one of my areas my companion and I went to the hospital to ask about volunteering as clergy there. The lady at the desk peered down her nose at us and then said "Now, you understand there is an age requirement for this." A little surprised I answered "No, I didn't realize that." She looked back at me. "How old are you?" she inquired. "I'm twenty-one," I replied. Suddenly she looked very uncomfortable. "Really?" she asked, confused. "I thought you were thirteen."
4. Also on the mission one time I slipped out the driver's side of our car, only to have an old man ask me "Can you even see to drive that car?" After I assured him that I could, he muttered "I swear they get younger all the time!"
5. Yet another time on the mission, my companion and I got invited in to talk to a house full of creepy older men. We were attempting to testify to them when one of them interrupted (much to my companion's chagrin) "Are you a mother-daughter combination?" Later on, they asked if I was thirteen.
6. (This one isn't a mistake about my age, but it's such a funny illustration of my youthful looks that I'm including it anyway.) During the summer my ward had a video scavenger hunt. One of the things we were supposed to video-tape was a cross-dresser. Somehow I got elected to perform for this one, but my group decided it wasn't good enough to have me dress up like a man. Because of my height and looks, they insisted I dress as a little boy. The most tragic part is that I actually fit the clothes from the little boy's section. Complete with wrestling T-shirt, cargo shorts, and Spiderman backpack, I fit the part. Too bad I forgot to bring my still camera.
7. When I finished my mission, Mom and Janel were gracious enough to come pick me up at the mission home. Later Janel confided to me that she hadn't recognized me when she first opened the door. "You look older now," she told me. "You actually look like you're seventeen now instead of thirteen!"
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A Missionary's Dream
