Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
A dream found me returning from a trip. As I arrived, I was informed that the performance reviews for a subordinate hadn’t been done for two years. His contract was for two years, and he’d been there for four, so he was threatening to leave, because he had not had a review.
I was pissed and stunned. That’s so unlike me, for one. I immediately started phoning the guy and looking for him while concurrently stalking the bureaucracy to find out why this oversight had taken place. I should have received notices that they were due if I’d somehow overlooked them, right? The company was uninterested in that; they just wanted it fixed.
The subordinate’s shop, a small brick and glass cubicle, was closed, with only night lines on inside. Meanwhile, in parallel, I’d been practicing my baseball for a big game. The news spread through the crowd that we’d won, 2-0, on a last inning home run. I believed that I might have been the one who hit the home run, although the logic behind my dream me completely escapes RL me. Highlights were being shown on television. I watched again and again. Was I the baserunner? No. Was I the one who hit a homer? No. Well, then, who was I? How was I involved? How was this possible.
Wait, wait, wait: dream self realized: I must not have been put into the game.
Big sadness then. But there was not time for that as I was still trying to fix the problem with the subordinate. Management, though, brought me forward to work on other problems, to help other departments and their heads. While I did those, no questions asked, I kept circling back to my issue. But night was coming on. More people were circulating through the crowded open-air work environment. I ended up lost in the crowd.
Dream end.
I’m swearing about modern technology again. It’s all so easy, so taken for granted, they have groomed me to complain.
Today’s target is my Fitbit. It needs recharged, again. Every few days, this takes place. I wear the thing almost 24/7, removing it only to save it from the showers. The rest of time finds it hugging my right wrist, monitoring my activity. Sure, it sends me an email when it needs recharged. That email arrives at 1:30 to 2:00 AM. I supposed, if I’m more rigorously disciplined and attentive, I can train myself to check it each night when I’ve reached my goal and see how much remains on the charge. Yeah, I could, but I’m lazy.
“It wouldn’t need to be recharged so much if you didn’t keep using it,” my wife observes.
A growl is given back. This is not time for humor. Charging the fitbit means removing it from my wrist and waiting while it charges. While it charges, I’m not collecting steps. My goal each day is twelve miles. It’s a new goal every morning, achieved every night. No, I haven’t walked it, didn’t run it, swim it, bike it; it’s an accumulation of twelve miles of activities, twelve miles achieved each day, something tangible.
Writing is different. I use word counts as mileposts but they don’t matter. I may have added words but the novel isn’t finished. I’m not certain how close to being done it is. I have guesses which makes sense, but I know, even when it’s ‘done’, it isn’t done. It needs revised and edited. Even then, it’s not done. It’s not published, not finalized in some concrete form. Until it reaches that final moment, it remains a work in progress. It’s like going from Earth to Mars; it’s gonna take a while.
So, I pursue my twelve miles every day, a goal established each morning, something achieved each night, something to make me feel good, damn it.
Nursing a coffee
nursing a care
marshalling thoughts running
like cats
here and there
trying to make a semblance of sense
trying to move into the present tense
on the outside I look to be comfortable and free
on the inside I hope no one else is like me
wrestling emotions cause they’re stealing my soul
wrestling hopes and dreams, writing down goals
another day living, another day spent
another day wondering where time and energy went
Here we sit, on the first day of 2020.
Memes about the roaring twenties abound, but others are attracted to the vision aspect of 20/20. That’s funny when you think of it; people often think of 20/20 vision as perfect vision.
It’s not.
“A person with 20/20 vision can see what an average individual can see on an eye chart when they are standing 20 feet away,” says Dr. McKinney, an ophthalmologist and glaucoma specialist at Eye Health Northwest in Oregon City, Ore.
An eye chart measures visual acuity, which is the clarity or sharpness of vision. The top number refers to your distance in feet from the chart. The bottom number indicates the distance at which a person with normal eyesight can read the same line.
For example, if you have 20/30 vision, it means your vision is worse than average. When you are standing 20 feet from the chart, you can read letters that most people see when they are 30 feet away.
h/t to American Academy of Ophthalmology.
You can argue that 20/20 means clear vision to you. That’s fine; we’re not here to nitpick.
Whatever it means and whatever you do, when you create your vision for this day, week, month, project, or year, make it your vision for you to see where you’re going, and give yourself some ways to measure your progress.
If you’re serious about wanting to achieve that vision, you should write it down. Studies have shown that doing so helps you become more likely to achieve your dreams (h/t to Huffpost). Evidence exists that the path to success becomes stronger if you share your dreams and ambitions with a friend who believes in your ability to succeed.
So, don’t wait for success and achievement to fall into your lap. Pursue it. Write it down. Put it out there. Find someone who believes in your ability to succeed.
Create your vision and pursue your dreams.
Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 