The Myth of Destination. And the Reality of the Journey

As a recovering overachiever and perfectionist, my Achilles heel was a New Year. I set the goals and quickly went into a shame spiral mid January — surrounded by unused workout equipment, art supplies still in their original packaging, and texts from friends left unanswered.

In my healing journey, I’ve swung in quite the opposite direction.

I now tell myself that there is nothing magical about a New Year. I tell myself that it will probably be another doozy of a year where we all hear the word “unprecendented” a few more times. I tell myself to not buy the art kit that naturally springs up unwarranted on my Instagram page. I’m successfully uncommitted to a gym during the months of January and February. I’m now the reverse Ebenezeer Scrooge. I love Christmas and I grumble at the fanfare around New Years.

As getting older and wiser usually does, I’ve found more of an equilibrium. As I’ve softened as a human, I’ve softened my previously hard stance on the New Year. I do think it’s ok for us to get swept up into the magic and hope that a new year could possibly be better than the last (hope, not expectations, that is). There is a great self-kindness in laying to rest the last year, putting her to sweet sleep and facing a new year with a fresh attitude and some general goals.

Though I don’t think I’ll ever set a true resolution again, I’ve been focusing more on the reality that it does seem that life is truly about the journey and not the destination.

Deep down we know that the destination is never really what we are seeking. Odysseus spent years onboard a rickety ship just to realize that the home he left was what he was looking for the entire time. In The Alchemist, the sojourner realized he had the treasure inside of him the entire time. Too often we get the goal, we get the house, the job, the spouse, or the vacation and we realize it doesn’t quench anything. There’s another goal to set. Another mountain to climb. And like the Grinch articulates, all of our treasured stuff just ends up back on Mount Crumpit in his garbage.

Living to constantly reach the next destination keeps us from inhabiting our lives. It’s a vapor that seems real, but when you reach for it in your hands, there’s nothing there. We set another goal, hoping that it will satisfy. The quick dopamine rush hits like a spark of lightning, and then is gone, soon to be replaced by another.

All we have is the journey. All we have is the people, the stories, the family, the lessons, the moments IN the journey. Destinations come and go. Satisfying for a moment, and gone the next. Once I settle in the knowledge that life really is the journey not the destination, I’m set free. I’m more relaxed. I’m more mindful of my “yes” and more mindful of my “no’s.” I don’t have to impress anybody because it doesn’t matter. It’s my journey. My one wild and precious life.

I hope that translates into more creativity without fear of judgment of others. I hope that translates into more movement without judgment of myself. I hope I have more margin to fully be present to my kids without the guilt spiral of “am I doing enough, being enough, seeing them enough.” And I will not beat myself up when it looks different than I thought it did.

So this year, my non-resolution is to remember that this is a journey. It is one long journey punctuated by mini destinations. All that is truly required of me is showing up.