Pondering A Quandary: Is The Goal Of Setting Goals A Good Goal?

March 21, 2023March 21, 2023 / Ally Bean / 140 Comments

from Gretchen Rubin

Welcome to my quandary of the month.

I took Gretchen Rubin’s Four Tendencies Quiz [HERE] to learn what my personality tendency is. I am a QUESTIONER.

As much as I enjoy irony and want to say I question that result, I don’t. It sounds right to me. And it explains, at least to me, why lately I’ve been having a difficult time deciding what to write about here.

Does this happen to you, too?

It’s not like I’m not writing, totally bereft of words, wondering where Muse is hiding. Nope, I’m writing oodles but I’m never satisfied with what I write. I have an idea, write a post, edit it into perfection, then question whether I want, or need, to talk about whatever I wrote.

Thus I delete many a post and try writing another one, hoping I’ll stumble on a different idea or point of view that seems worthy of publishing here.

Blogging has become one big old game of Ally Try Again.

And the thing is that after all these years of writing a personal blog my hesitation seems odd to me. I’m a free spirit [read my tagline] so wouldn’t it follow that I should just know | intuit | reason what to write about?

In the past that’s been the case.

However lately, much to my consternation, I’ve been floundering confounded by a strange tension in my mind about what to do next. And I don’t like feeling like this, it doesn’t seem like proactive me, yet here we are.

from Witchy Moms

So in an attempt to make sense of my behavior I decided to explore the concept of setting goals. Perhaps I need some? Could that be my issue?

I do tend to fly by the seat of my pants here.

Have you noticed?

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary a GOAL is: “the end toward which effort is directed : AIM.” Going a bit further, the dictionary suggests synonyms include but are not limited to: objective, intent, purpose.

In addition to the basic dictionary definition there’s always that business dude, Peter Drucker, and his old chestnut S.M.A.R.T. This acronym stands for: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, Time bound.

It’s trite, but utilizing it could help me reverse my recent descent into indecision, I guess.

The thing is that the goals I’m contemplating, ones that’d resonate with me, wouldn’t be based on numbers because that’d be silly. I don’t need to focus on word count or publishing deadlines or reader engagement stats to feel like I have it going on here.

Instead I’m thinking about goals based on a personal sense of purpose. Something like a manifesto, but not so intense. It’d be a declaration of my raison d’être stated in the simplest way possible, perhaps embodied in a few NUDGE WORDS, maybe from the Growth or Adventure categories as explained HERE?

My mythical set of goals would be something I could use as motivation, a kind of thesis statement meant to keep me on the right track so that I’d not waste time pussyfooting around in my mind trying to decide what to write about.

Or maybe I’m overthinking this? That’s a possibility too. Following that line of reasoning I have to wonder if I should get over myself and simply show up, then write something, anything even.

Perhaps THAT is the goal after all– and I already know it.

Thoughts, anyone?

from Disappointing Affirmations

QUESTIONS OF THE DAY

If you write a personal blog do you find yourself confused about what to write about next? Never? Sometimes? Always? How do you handle that?

Do you tend to set goals for everything you do? Some things you do? None of the things you do? How has that worked out for you?

Do you agree or disagree with the statement: a good enough something, whatever it might be, is better than waiting for a perfect nothing?

The Tale Of The Accidentally Purloined Bag Of Potato Chips

October 18, 2022 / Ally Bean / 248 Comments

LIKE MISCREANTS EVERYWHERE I’M GOING to say this wasn’t my fault because, as I will explain below, it was an accident.

Nothing pre-meditated about this.

Just a minor tussle involving a fast-moving me and a fussy computer in the U-scan checkout lane in the grocery store that lead to an unanticipated situation.

You see…

It was late afternoon and I was using the U-scan checkout lane in Kroger. I like the self-checkout lane because it’s usually faster than waiting in line for the traditional checkout.

Plus, and I’m bragging here, I am very good at finding the little UPC codes on what I’m buying, expertly swiping the code across the flat UPC barcode reading screen, then tossing my purchase into the reusable bags I swear by.

• • •

HOWEVER ON THIS PARTICULAR DAY in my zeal for checking out of the store, while grabbing a bag of potato chips out of my shopping cart, I twisted around in such a way that my crossbody purse did a little flying leap away from my body and landed on the flat UPC barcode reading screen.

PLOP!

Then for reasons known only to the computer, it immediately jumped ahead to the part of the transaction that asks you how you’re going to pay for these items.

But I wasn’t finished inputing all my items.

So being tired and in a hurry, without thinking much about it, I laid the bag of potato chips, not properly swiped, on top of the stuff already packed in my reusable bag.

Then I focused my energies on coaxing the computer, Little Miss Touchy Screen, to allow me to continue shopping. I was victorious, because I know all about that ⬅️ key that lets you keep buying stuff.

I input a few more items, the rest of what I wanted to buy, then paid for my purchases using a credit card, grabbed my bags, and walked to my car where I placed the bags in the trunk.

I drove home.

• • •

BUT AS I DID SO I had a slow realization, the sort that sneaks up on you in the most unlikely places, like at a stoplight while you’re waiting for it to turn green, that it was possible I had accidentally stolen that bag of potato chips, a small bag I assure you, from Kroger.

And you know what? When I got home I checked my register receipt and well… yep I stole a bag of potato chips… like a thief… a perp… which I am not… except maybe I was.

And here’s the thing because all perps have a thing, if interrogated by the Coppers I’m gonna squeal on my accomplice in this unfortunate situation. IT WAS THAT DARNED COMPUTER’S FAULT for getting flustered.

I mean what kind of wuss is that thing? It wasn’t like I hit it with the heft of a heavy leather Hermès Birkin Bag, now was it? It was only a lightweight nylon baggallini Uptown Bagg, a sleek crossbody.

Honestly, I didn’t mean to do this.

You believe me, right?

~ ~ 🛒 ~ ~

**A few other oops stories about situations at Ye Olde K. Roger…**

In Which Ms. Bean Is An Accessory After The Fact, Maybe [2018]

Carelessness, Coupons, And Cake– OH MY! [2017]

The One About The Friend, The Dog & The Suburban Grocery Store Salad Bar [2014]

~ ~ 🛒 ~ ~

Alumni Directories & The Art Of Mischievousness

September 7, 2022October 30, 2022 / Ally Bean / 243 Comments

Apropos of a delightfully snarky conversation with a friend…

FRIEND HAS RECEIVED AN INVITATION to her college reunion this fall. She has no interest in attending, but has the opportunity to be included in the alumni directory.

She would like that.

To do this she has to fill out an online form telling ye olde university details about who she is now. The form will not be accepted unless it is filled in completely.

Friend, like me, graduated from a liberal arts university. Hers, Methodist. Mine, Lutheran.

Friend, like me, majored in something to do with words. Hers, Romance Languages. Mine, English Literature.

Friend, like me, graduated from college and never returned to her hometown, instead choosing to make her way in the big bad world on her own.

Friend, like me, received almost no career counseling while in college. Instead she’s had many jobs, but none that suggest a specific title showing the summation of her work accomplishments*.

• • •

As always, Calvin asks the important questions

• • •

THE PROBLEM, AS WE SEE IT, is that Friend is unsure about how to describe herself on this ridiculous form that will ONLY be accepted if she fills in ALL the blanks.

Does she take the dutiful route and tell this university, where she received a great classical education but had no help finding work, about ONE of the things she’s done? That is, does she say she’s an Interpreter, even though she did that briefly?

OR should she be more irreverent, feeling no need to divulge anything specific about her work history to this institution that provided no career guidance. That is, does she say she’s a Woman of International Mystery?

I relate to this problem.

I know that when I’ve been forced to fill in forms like the one Friend is dealing with, I waiver between saying I’m a Writer or a Kept Woman. Both are apt, more or less, and satisfy the nosy computer system.

So what say you?

IF you were in this situation wherein you only needed to fill in the blank as a means to an end AND you felt no loyalty to the university from which you graduated…

Would your answer be sincere or flippant?

And why?

Do you consider yourself mischievous at times?

And if so, how does that make you feel?

* If you’re a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher or an accountant [or whatever], you’ve not had to deal with this situation. But for those who have wandered through life working at various jobs, contributing to the GNP in our own ways, this can be problematic.

A Lunch Date Wherein I Am Happy But Told I Should Not Be So Happy

March 6, 2020May 6, 2021 / Ally Bean / 144 Comments

You’re too happy.

I met an acquaintance for lunch. She’d texted me the afternoon before we had lunch to arrange where she suddenly wanted to go to lunch.

Nowhere convenient, I’ll tell ‘ya that.

However, I happily rearranged my schedule to accommodate her ~~whim~~ preference, but that fact seemed to escape her notice as we sat there eating and talking.

Nope, she was on a rant about all that is wrong in the world; and she needed me to know that in her opinion I was too happy when discussing the wrongs in the world.

My equanimity seemed to bring out the demons in her.

She was perturbed with me because I wasn’t in the depths of despair over The Donald’s latest bull sh!t move of telling people to go to work when they’re sick.

[How stupid &/or senile is that man?]

Nor was I despondent enough over Elizabeth Warren, the competent presidential candidate who the news outlets marginalized, dropping out of the race.

[How sad is it that our country is so backward when it comes to electing leaders?]

Nor was I gnashing my teeth over the gloomy grayness that has been the subtext of our winter weather here.

[How soon will spring get here?]

Yep, she was peeved with me, but she’s what I’d call an Eeyore, a bit on the gloomy side. Always. Which means, of course, that my Pooh-like demeanor rankles her.

I do like her if only because she reminds me that someone else’s opinion of you need not define you. And that by talking with a variety of personality types you can, if you are open to it, learn a few things.

Like for instance, you can learn that the word ‘happy’ can have a negative connotation. Who knew, huh?

The Tale Of The Drunken Daffodils That Didn’t Get Drunk Enough, I Guess

February 25, 2020 / Ally Bean / 132 Comments

Last fall I decided that I’d attempt to force some daffodil bulbs to bloom inside the house this winter. I thought the yellow flowers would be a spot of cheerfulness in February, the grayest of months.

I found THIS ARTICLE that told me how to create the perfect environment for my daffodils so that when it was time to take them out of the dark basement, they’d not get leggy. Instead, they’d use their energy to make the flowers bloom bigger, better, more colorful.

Bloom being the operative word here.

I did as instructed, rescuing the bulbs from basement darkness a few weeks ago. At first it seemed like I was going to have, as they used to say, a success experience because the bulbs were getting jiggy, pushing healthy green leaves upward.

I was jazzed.

In fact, in anticipation of the yellow flowers I put the pots with the bulbs in a sunny spot on the kitchen table, where I’d see the beauty from many rooms.

As per the article in order to stunt their growth, I watered the bulbs with a carefully measured concoction of water and alcohol. I mean when you task me with the responsibility of getting some daffodils drunk, I take it seriously. Do my best. Or so I thought.

However as the days have gone by, the daffodils have grown leggy and there’s no indication that they’ll ever bloom. I agree that they’re a lovely shade of green, but as for the yellow flowers?

There are none and I am sad.

Thinking this through all I can figure is that despite what the article said, in order to stunt their growth the bulbs needed more alcohol than I gave them. This means I failed them, not getting them liquored up enough to bloom where they were planted.

But if nothing else at least I tried, getting a good blog story out of it. 🍸