Being home with the kids during this pandemic has allowed me the freedom to do things on my own time.
Like write this column. So, I wanted to share with you how - in 22 simple steps - you too can achieve your goals, even when you are self-isolating. While the steps are based on my goals as a writer, they can be adapted to any aspirations - from crocheting to preventing bear attacks.
Set a goal for yourself the day before - for example, my goal today was to write this column. Say your goal aloud to someone else - preferably someone you know, preferably not a random stranger!
Stranger walking by: “Nice day!”
Me: “I’m going to grow my hair out so I can cut it evenly, because the bleach caused a lot of breakage in the front and now I look like Billy Ray Cyrus.”
Experts say we are more likely to stick to our goals if we declare them to others. And experts are never wrong.
Note: this expert advice does not apply to romantic goals. I boldly announced my intentions to marry my swim instructor to anyone in earshot for the better part of the 90s. Didn’t happen.
At the dawning of the fateful day, tell your three-year-old - who has found his way into your bed and is ready to party - that “dawn” means “still night” and that he has to sleep more. At least until 7. When he protests, fire up YouTube Kids on your phone so he can sit on your pillow and play, directly into your ear, the shrillest of poorly translated children’s songs. On repeat.
Head downstairs with conviction, ready to start your [insert goal here]. But, first feed your children.
Then fuel that big ol’ brain of yours with a cuppa joe; gotta get prepared for your day of reaching the stars. Might as well grab a couple top-ups! Embrace the jitters and full-body restless-leg sensation. Nothing kick-starts a day of productivity quite like lagging mental fatigue and heart palpitations.
Sit down in front of your [tool required for goal achievement]. For me, it’s my laptop. Realize, too late, that you have not, in fact, fed yourself. Eat the children’s cold, neglected toast crusts. Make a mental note to eat a vegetable later. Stare at your screen for a few minutes, pausing occasionally to see if anyone liked your hilarious photo on Instagram yesterday. This step is essential to really ignite your creative confidence. Finish your crusts and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Write a sentence that boasts philosophical depth. Like how “pride can make an individual unbelievably powerful yet undeniably fragile.” Stare proudly at your sentence for eight to 10 minutes. Accept that’s all you have. Note the lingering heart palpitations. Take another swig of your cold coffee to really show it who’s boss. Chug a glass of water before your heart explodes.
Open a new, blank document. Be mildly offended by its crispness. Wander out to the front step to watch your husband being too attractive for this early hour and teaching your kid to ride a bike. He’s already, it seems, swept the driveway, shot hoops with the kids, cleared the remaining snow and nursed the hedge back to life. While smiling, no doubt. Look down at yourself in the same sweatpants you fell asleep in last night. Is that jam on your shirt? It is. Take photos and videos of your husband’s exceptional parenting. Feel smug for no reason at all; perhaps because he agreed to marry you.
Get sidetracked because the three-year-old wants “Goldfish and fruit gummies.” Get him Goldfish and raisins because it’s still morning. Note the profound disappointment in his face as you return with the wrong snack order. Watch him spitefully slam the raisins into his gullet so that “NOW I can have fruit gummies?”
Return with the fruit gummies. This should be a cue to your older child that the restaurant (Café Mudder) is open. Provide catering service for two selective individuals for the next 30 minutes.
Take a bath. Perhaps the peace and solitude will spark that creative fire. Spend three-and-a-half minutes explaining to the three-year-old (banging incessantly on the door) why he can’t come in. Give up and get out. Did you actually wash? Not necessarily.
Slip back into the same sweatpants. You need to be comfortable if you are to taste victory. Return to your workstation. Scorn the lingering whiteness of the screen.
Fetch a glass of wine. God knows words fly out of you with a crisp Pinot Grigio.
Pop quickly outside to see how much more tanned and perfect your husband has gotten.
Spend eight minutes putting toy gorillas in a tree, as requested. Ignore the three-year-old’s facial expression that lets you know you’ve somehow done even this wrong.
Go inside and sit on the toilet for 10 minutes. Did you need to go to the bathroom? That’s not the point; you need a momentary neutral zone to question your ability to [insert goal] and/or parent. Flush the toilet anyway. Refill wine glass.
Return to the outdoors to see your husband holding the three-year-old in the gorilla tree, the child’s face beaming with joy. Take photos to, again, feel somehow involved.
Order a pizza to congratulate your first-born for his bravery and perseverance in learning to ride a bicycle without training wheels. It was daddy’s idea. Of course, it was...
While you wait for the pizza, do a 15-minute HIIT workout on YouTube. Grunt-swear at the flawless 20-year-old offering the class. Note her lack of wobbly bits. Choose the modification for each move lest you flare your fabulously arthritic spine.
Embrace the sexy wheeze of your exercise-induced asthma. Take two puffs of your inhaler.
Eat five slices of pizza and watch Honey I Shrunk the Kids. Google what happened to Rick Moranis.
Bring your laptop upstairs to the bedroom. The words are in you, maybe you just need privacy to allow them to flow. Put on a charcoal face mask. Feel inspired to organize/downsize your wardrobe; empty the contents of your dresser and closet onto the floor. Identify sock pairs and then decide the rest can wait for tomorrow. Rinse mask.
Read bedtime stories with the kids. Try not to fall asleep.
At the 11th hour, put on headphones, glue your butt to the chair, and just start typing. Realize that even if your original goal was somewhat ambitious, you took part in several other little victories - like admiring your hot husband, photo-documenting milestones, and learning Rick Moranis, a widower at the peak of his career, left Hollywood to raise his young children.
At the end of the day, remember while lofty goals are great, it’s all about the little victories.
Good luck!
Heather Huybregts is a mother, physiotherapist, blogger, YouTuber and puffin whisperer from Corner Brook, N.L.. Her column appears biweekly.
