The TV is on, showing me all that I have missed this past year. Presented before me are the masses as if to emphasise how I do not belong. They are in Times Square, I am on the couch. They sing along to songs I do not know, sung by artists I have never seen; for the most part I am happy about this. I use the word artist loosely.
I opened my journal to this day last year and put a check next to one bullet point out of ten. The heading read goals and listed a number of things I did not do. I remind myself this does not mean I did not do anything, just not those things.
What I did do was discover Great Uncle Cornelius’ Finest Spiced Ginger, and I’m glad I did.
I went sailing and surfing. Both were on my life list yet strangely not last year’s goal list.
I reread the Great Gatsby but was more pleased to have discovered the pen of Wilfred Thessiger.
During all my travels this last year I never got lost but I surely went places I did not intend. Not every wrong turn worked out for the best but in retrospect had I reached al my goals I may have missed the mark.
What does that mean? Nothing but sometimes such rhetoric just happens. It looks or sounds nice but is empty… like my last year’s goals. But I’m writing a new list this year. The list contains hopes and needs and if accomplished, I will be better off than I am now.
Skydiving isn’t on the list. Neither is becoming a millionaire. If I accomplish either I will have failed at my intentions and become a success.
(photos by John Barclay… except the bottle)
Brohammas 
I’d say you’re a big success.