At the end of last year, a friend sent me a list of great questions to ask. They included things like: What were your goals for 2015? What did you do right? What did failure teach you? How often did you make yourself uncomfortable?
Others were: How often did you put yourself in a position to learn something new? With whom do you need to spend more time? With whom do you need to spend less time? Is what you are doing now putting you on a course to reach your new goals?
I looked at the list and thought how great the questions were. Then it occurred to me to actually answer them. All of them. In writing.
This simple exercise led to a number of discoveries. I had only two goals for 2015. The first was to market my book. The second was to increase my community involvement, a fancy way of saying get out of my writing cave and have contact with humans.
I discovered that marketing my book had many components: revamping my website, working with a publicist, going to book signings, submitting new writing for publication and public speaking.
In the quest to increase my community involvement, I definitely saw less of my writing cave and more of my own species. I discovered that this made me feel happier, more connected and less tired of my work and myself.
But in reviewing the year and my goals, I also discovered something else: My energy was not concentrated. It was all over the place.
For example, I took a huge chunk of time out of marketing my book and meeting friends at the Flying Squirrel to participate in an art festival. This required that I revive a process of art making that, although I had invented it, I was not comfortable with because I hadn’t been making art consistently. While it was a good experience, it didn’t really move me closer to my goals.
I took another chunk of time to create and lead a few coaching workshops. They was very educational and deeply rewarding for me, but again, not directly in line with my primary goals.
The publications I wrote for also reflected scattered energy. They ran the gambit from anthologies, city magazines, adventure magazines, newspapers and blogs, and included everything from human interest profiles to recovery articles to columns about writing to travel essays. I also put together a year’s worth of newspapers for the Jewish Federation, which were, as you might expect, about all things Jewish.
Somewhere in the middle of everything I got a new dog, fell down some steps, started going to yoga, quit going to yoga, started going to a physical therapy, quit going to physical therapy, applied to do a Tedx talk in Massachusetts, did not get the Tedx talk in Massachusetts, fell down (again) and hosted a variety show.
While listing the disparate components of my year, it occurred to me that something sinister might be going on. That perhaps I have, like many people I know, adult Attention Deficit Disorder. So I stopped answering the questions and went right over to a website on ADD to read about the symptoms.
While there I decided to take the five-minute test offered by the website. Midway through, however, I remembered that I was supposed to be answering questions about my year, so I did not finish the test. Still, I got the gist of it.
It’s true that I am highly distractable, frequently bored, often forgetful and, in general, sleepless. It’s true that my energies are scattered, my activities varied, my days unpredictable, and my nights full of rumination. But what is also true is this: Of everything that took me closer to and further from my goals in 2015, of everything I accomplished and everything I failed at, there is not one single thing I’d have wanted to miss.
So to hell with streamlining, I say. To hell with singularity of purpose, tunnel vision and the idea that the single-minded pursuit of goals is the only way to go. Up with variety, multiplicity, diversity, scattered interests, curiosity. Go for it, I say. All of it.
Dana Shavin’s memoir, “The Body Tourist,” is available wherever books are sold online. Contact her at dana@danashavin.com.