Each eleventh is a goal.
It’s more than that. It’s a target. I count down to and count away from. That number looms in my life, always nearby. I have it posted, conspicuous to me. Not so much to you. It is one part of my “reminders,” the elements of my life that I keep strategically placed to keep me in check.
Because I need to be kept in check. Otherwise, I start thinking. And when that happens, there’s usually a whole lot of not good that follows.
I’ve done okay so far. Twenty-one times I’ve counted down to and counted away from.
***
I’ve set about the Year of Change, the focus on my writing and the things in my life that make those goals worthy. I keep this picture nearby as well, to remind myself to get off my ass and go out into the world.
This is the day a few of my MINjas and I got up at 3 am and drove to West Virginia to do a bit of white water rafting. We drove home that same day. Or I drove home, the old guy.
This is what these tough kids looked like afterwards. My boy Nick:
and little Andersen:
and Dan, the man behind The Pooping:
It’s a good place, that world. It’s a worthy place to keep me counting down to and counting away from. Because you get to go white water rafting, and hang out with some neat kids.
Maybe all the writing doesn’t get finished. All the grades are completed on time. A few chores fall by the way-side. The trade-off is worth it.
***
I suspect I will never be the kind of teacher who wins awards or the kind of writers who others read as I do Fitzgerald and Thompson and Hawthorne. Each day that passes, I am okay with that.
I do what I can, let go of what I must and try the best that I know. Three pretty simple rules for living well. I’m better at those three some days than others. I have mis-stepped along the way.
The great thing about tomorrow, though, is we always have a fresh chance to get it right.
