22

I write goals every year.

The number at the end of each year is the number I shoot for. Sometimes I make them, sometimes I don’t. Okay, I never meet every single goal. But if I didn’t meet the goal there’s usually a reason. Last year, I definitely didn’t meet my goal of running a 5K. My plantar faciitis developed into heel spurs so I’m lucky I’m still walking as many steps as I am.

I’m excited for this year, though. This year of 22. Maybe this will be the year we will escape the pandemic. Maybe this year my sister Meghan will return to MN. Maybe this will be the year I finally make writing much more of a hobby leaning into a career.

This blog entry is terrible. It’s bland, it’s slightly broken, but guess what? This entry is also part of my goals. 22 Terrible Blog entries each month. Um, well, the goal isn’t that they’re terrible per say, but to simply write. Terrible or not.

We’ve got this.