New Year, Old Me

I have to admit, I'm very content and don't want to screw that up with resolutions that I know myself well enough to know I'll never keep. That's not to say I don't think I need improvement. Au contraire.

I am setting goals for myself this year -- and none of them involve exercise and weight loss (not that I don't need both, it's just I'd rather fool myself into thinking I'm doing both just because I want to, not because I promised I would). Ah, mind games. I play them with my characters every day, guess it's spilling over into my real life.

My goals are simple. And achievable.

Everything hinges on this one rule: If you have thirty minutes, you can accomplish almost anything.

Really. Think of all of those things you put off. How many of them take less than thirty minutes once you set yourself to dealing with them?

If I find myself with a block of thirty minutes I'll set myself to a task. It's amazing what a person can actually accomplish in thirty minutes -- I used to know this when my children were small, somewhere along the way I lost it.

Writing is like closet space, the more you have the less efficient you are with it. For some reason I've fallen into this "I need two hours to be effective" routine. So not true, and I've found it to be counter productive. Thirty minute segments will keep my head in the game.

I need to volunteer more. My thirty minute rule will allow me to gather up those wasted minutes and put them to good use.

I want to spend more time with my mom. Aren't frequent short visits better than one long one?

I want to spend more time reading for pleasure. Again, I don't need to carve out hours to enjoy a good book. Why not plan a thirty minute break in every day for this?

You're getting the idea. In fact this blog was done during one of those thirty minute "dead times."

I think cleaning out my sock drawer is nest on the thirty-minute-to-do list. Then I'll be able to close it and be happier each and every morning.