Fuzzy goals and objectives

I’m not great at setting solid goals for myself. For the better part of two years, my goal was to quit my job and write a book about pudding. I also have visions of sitting on the porch of my farmhouse at sunset, animals … somewhere. In that version of the future I wear skirts a lot and hang my laundry on the line. Light pours through the windows in the still afternoon.

I tend towards contentment, adapting some of the things I want to fit my circumstances, which is both good and bad. Despite my inability to fully commit to my objectives and articulate them, I realized some time ago that I know exactly how I define longterm success: If, when I die, they mention my passing on either Morning Edition or All Things Considered–and if the story has none of the subtle jubilation that accompanies the downfall of dictators nor the inevitability of solo-balloonists–then I will know (from somewhere in the great beyond) that I did well.

Today, however, I added another possability. While it doesn’t fully encompass success the way my NPR obituary will, it has the benefit of being pleasantly pre-mortem and awfully gosh-darn cute. Ladies and gentlemen, success is a guess appearance on Sesame Street.

This post has three sub-points:

1) I should really, really donate more money to public broadcasting as it so clearly plays a big part in my life.

2) Sesame Street on You Tube is a beautiful, time-sucking thing. It is like opening a small trapdoor to your childhood.

3) Is this particular clip great, or what? “Oh, that’s a big chicken! I’d check your feed for hormones.” Love it.

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