Ambition. noun. According to my slightly modified version of Dictionary.com’s definition, “An earnest desire for some type of achievement or distinction, and the willingness to strive for its attainment:”
I am really good at setting goals. It may be one of my gifts.
Once upon a time, I had to set goals for a class about personal responsibility. One of my goals was to run 3 miles. For the girl who wanted to be homeschooled in first grade so she wouldn’t have to run in gym class, this was a ambitious thing. Self-imposed methods for meeting this goal involved a daily calendar, slowly increased distances every other week, mapmyrun.com, and a routine every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I was in my element. And I rocked (in other words, survived) the 5k at the end.
Another time (okay, like every single Friday during the school year) I had the goal of actually getting all of my homework for the week completed. Talk about ambitious. To do so, I mapped out my assignments for each day and figured out a stellar schedule for finishing everything with only moderate amounts of procrastination and panic. To make sure I actually followed the schedule, I outlined to-do lists for each day. I may or may not have added items that were obvious or already complete to these lists. Just saying. But I got everything done by the end of the year, so something must have worked out right.
Anyone who is not Type A is most likely judging me right now. Judge away, my friend. At least I get stuff done.
This summer, there is one specific thing I want to get done. I want to write more. In order for that to happen, I need to go public with this ambitious-for-me goal: one blog post every week.
There’s a reason I’m posting about this. If I say this out loud (and not just when I’m talking to myself), there is a greater chance it will get done. Reason number one, I am a people pleaser, and knowing that someone expects something of me is a surefire way to get me going. Number two, the summer streaks by fast. If I don’t prioritize my time, the days will slip by in a chlorinated wave and I will waste my summers on things that really aren’t that important. (Ahem. Like the hour I spent ransacking online clearance sections tonight. Although I could claim that was important because I found $15 colored jeans that may actually be long enough for me. When you are over six feet tall, this could be considered a miracle. But I digress.) Number three, I think writing is important. Even if no one except my mother ever reads this, I want to keep doing it because it makes me a less crabby person. And it’s fun. And of all of the hobbies I could take up while summering in the boondocks, it seems like the most beneficial.
Well. Now that’s out in the world, and we’ll see what gets accomplished. Now if I tell you that with the rest of the summer, my ambitions include running four miles, actually finishing Les Miserables, and avoiding sunburn, let’s see if those things happen too.