I was cleaning out the basement last weekend when I turned my attention to an old file cabinet perched in a dark corner, minding its own business. In the frenzy of my purging rampage, I decided this guy’s number was up and began tossing its outdated contents into the trash.
Eventually I came across one particularly wrinkled and faded folder that simply said, “Goals.”
“What’s this crap?” I thought to myself, opening it to reveal a vaguely familiar series of neatly hand-written pages.
It was written nearly twenty years ago – by me, it turns out – when I was a struggling up-and-coming manager supporting a wife and brand new baby, trying to make my mark on the business world. It was a vision of my ideal future life.
Curious, I slowed down for a moment to read my larger-than-life dreams, circa 1993.
“I am well dressed, with very nice shoes,” it begins.
Seriously, that’s how it starts. I smiled, and remembered. We lived in a very expensive area, and were always short on cash when it came to splurging beyond the staples for home and baby. Those fancy shoes represented an unspoken dignity I aspired towards, reaching beyond a hand-to-mouth existence.
The visioning instructions had called for no boundaries, no limits, no censoring of stupid ideas – clearing the way to tap the inner spirit of possibility. “Just imagine the life you love!” it had offered, then write it down.
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