My opportunity is to have self-awareness when I’ve created an unrealistic expectation or a fantasy story where I’m hyper-focused on the outcome.

Outcomes kill potential and possibility. Outcomes kill desire.

Jessica grew into a fiery, curly-haired force overflowing with a lovely combination of sass and grace. She took to the arts and taught herself to draw, paint, and make comic books. I cherished her drawings and cards, and to this day, I still have one of her elementary school projects tacked up on our fridge.

I missed a lot of my sister’s formative years.

My compulsion is to control. If it is to be done, I am to do it. I know how, come on everyone, follow along now.

Gold-star seeking is ever-present. It doesn’t matter the topic. My ego yearns to accomplish and win. My tendency is to plan and incessantly do, often, until exhaustion.

In a year poised with cliches of vision and prosperity, it simultaneously felt like time flew by and also painstakingly dripped like an annoying, leaky faucet.

I and the best psychics and fortune-tellers certainly didn’t see 2020 playing out this way. Days ran together in a monotonous manner. I often awoke in the not quite light out morning thinking, is it Tuesday or Friday?

What if I were curious today?

What if I laid down my rigid expectations of progress and productivity? What if I chose to enjoy the journey instead of meticulously chasing the so-called goal?

My attitude and my day, my partner, and my body would all be open and uplifted. Curiosity seems to be the portal for joy.

Detaching from my professional identity was the piece that conjured heart-pounding anguish. Who would I be if I no longer worked? This uncertainty was terrifying.

On my last day in the office, our leader and I shared an intentionally long hug, and he kindly whispered, “Are you sure?”