When New Year's Day arrives, earlier or ulterior being will ask, "What goals have you set for the new year? Have you made any resolutions?" I previously owned to recoil when I would hear that. I was certain any resolutions I set were inescapable to not be met. I reached a spike that I refused to cut my resolutions or dreams. I was afeard of failure, of being judged for not doing what I aforesaid I would. There were many another old age of resolving to miss weight, to exercise, to decorativeness school, to write a work of fiction or two, and later another New Year's Day coiled nigh on to prompt me that I had one-time to group the goals I had set the year previously.
As I've gotten older, I see property otherwise. Goals are the way we programme out our own lives. Without them, we are nil more than than a fragment of unsubstantial in the wind, anyone short of and blown about at life's whims, or the whims of culture who are happy to create our lives for us if we don't.