The goal is dead. This is evident, because rigor mortis has set inside the spiral notebook, containing the goal’s composition. The subheadings detailing the tasks, duties and mission of this particular goal have stiffened. The only option left is to crumble up the written goal and its entire layout.

Fuck the goal. Trash it.

Now we can start true dialogue, one without filters and a professional code of conduct.

If we could really say what we felt during extreme levels of discouragement, it would be raw; like this:

Fuck your age. Fuck where you’re from. Fuck your bank account statement, your salary,  your jalopy of a car, your hipster clothes, your anime comic collection, your hyper idolization of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, your anti-mainstream rituals, the trends, your ego, your teachers for not telling you the truth, and your parents for telling you that your dreams are, in fact, surmountable: that’s kind of true, but also kind of not.

Liberate yourself of these oppressive chains, partake in trivial rants, and occasionally, cruise down a road of pessimism. How can you put the goal into perspective without analyzing it from all angels?

These sporadic convulsions of doubt and criticism, not only of yourself but also of the people who inhabit your circle (the ones who society teaches you to believe are your leaders and role models), need to occur. Allow these feelings to surface to the horizon, then play with these feelings, and rearrange them. Color code them if you need to. Let them dance and prance in your head. Let them twist and turn along your hair follicles. Let them talk smack— “girl (or boy), you ain’t shit. You’re a fuckgirl (or boy).” Once you’ve let these feelings surface to the brim of your bullshit-goal meter, it’s time to get intoxicated, and rise above like the second coming of Jesus.

Go back to the dump and dig up the wrinkled goal for restoration. Remaster it, and be realistic; this doesn’t mean that you should limit yourself or lower your standards— just approach the goal with peace and new-found truth. Get into the habit of creating small habits that will help you build pedestals to elevate you as you climb the ladder, leading to your goal.

The obvious and inevitable is that shit changes. Life fucks us all at some point. We’re in debt to life, and it doesn’t matter how much money we’ve paid or how many good deeds we commit ourselves to. Bad things happen, putting our goals and dreams on hold. Maybe your drinking problem has worsened, and your rent is late. Maybe your boss is riding your ass, and not to mention, your co-workers are waiting to catch you slipping to tackle the promotion that you’ve been fighting for since you started the job seven long years ago. Or even worse, maybe you’ve settled for some low-end job that tends to undermine your value and skill set as an employee. Maybe you’re going through a breakup, and you feel so much pain that you think you might be having a near-death experience. Maybe you’ve gained weight, and your self-esteem is absent. Maybe your mind is in a constant frenzy, and you’re overwhelmed by anxiety that’s most present when you’re doing exactly nothing. Maybe you think everyone except for you is living the good life, or so it seems on social media (but that’s all just a facade). So if you need a good cry, go take a thirty-minute cry break. Let it out, and drain the toxins. Play with the feelings of doubt, as mentioned, and then drain them. It’s about acknowledging all of yours fears and coming to terms with the reality that you could live an easy life, dwelling in your nest of complacency, but you yearn for more.

You plan to strive. You plan to accelerate. You plan to produce and create, and you do so for days, weeks, months, or years at a time. The urges to create, build, and excel become dilapidated. They all seem pointless or far-fetched. There’s a supreme dictator running amuck in your mind telling you this, and this happens to you all too frequently, so frequently that it seems like routine protocol. Accept it. You’re a shasta-daisy-to-be. You grow toward sunlight but hold back at the site of darkness. You isolate behind the cloud but come to rejuvenate at the belly of rainfall. You’re a vast bubble of emotions and experiences that are all human.

Again. To shit with the goal, and to shit with the deadlines. Trash them. Hibernate and cry. And then make your grand return to the goal. If this article didn’t make any sense to you, that means we’ve made progress. We’ve excelled at our first mission— coming to accept that life doesn’t just make this concept of “sense” readily obtainable. It doesn’t just graze the foot like a fresh pelt of shit left by your dog that you, at random, collide paths with when you get home from work or when you wake in the morning, walking to the kitchen to heat up some coffee. This might sound as cliche as the last self-help book you read: you have to seek and diligently pursue whatever it is that you want. Sadly, this is everything that you’ve heard before, accept maybe the tone is a little different. Go back to the oversaturated self-help book, because this is not help—this is just a means to filling a momentary void.

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