Goals

When I was little, I never made goals, I never even thought of them. I’m not even sure if I knew what goals were. Over time, school taught me (or attempted to), that I should make goals, telling me how important they were. I always found this part of the class to be utterly stupid. I would always write some bullshit answer about getting good grades (which, by the way, I did get. You can even ask my mom.)

Now that I am growing into adulthood (I know Mom, I’ll always be your little girl), I find that goals have become a necessary part of my life. I have to get through college to get me degree, so that I can start a career. I have to budget my money to save up to my goal of eventually moving. The more that I think about it, the more that I realize that by achieving these goals, I simply create another goal to do something greater. It seems as though the rest of my life is an eternal process of making goals so that I can go on to make more goals. It makes me wonder what is the point, what is the final goal to end all goals?

This could go two ways really. One way to think about it is that life is a constant, overwhelming struggle. However, you can flip that and consider it a good thing, because you always have something to look forward to, a reason to keep going. I’m not really sure which is the proper way to think of it, or if both are true and right.

But all of this leads me to another, more important question: Is life about the end, or the journey to get to the end. Everything that I know makes me believe that all of the experiences in this thing called life are far more important than the achievement of any final goal.