40 ways to fail at life

and 39 ways to succeed

birthday girl

I share a birthday with Thanksgiving week. I almost always do. There are years (apparently 2025 will be one of them) where I will share my birthday with Thanksgiving day itself. Being that I’m married to a kind man who is also not bowled over by turkey, I will likely never have to suffer a dry bird on my actual birthday, for which I am thankful.

Speaking of thankfulness…

In my 39th year, it just becomes more acutely apparent how little I know about anything. I learn so much each year about relationships, motherhood, womanhood, marriage, God, his creation, brokenness—I don’t have brain space to store it. Which is fine because, Lord willing, maybe I’ll have another year to attempt retention of this merciful information. I am thankful that my birthday lands around Thanksgiving. Gratitude forces my hand in lean years and takes my hand for a slow dance in years of plenty. This much I don’t need to retain because this much I know. It is tattooed on my soul.

goal setter go getter

Two years ago I read a powerful book about the impact of creativity and dreaming in daily life. In the book, the author teaches the reader multiple ways to listen to God’s calm, quiet voice that beckons us to dream, relax, and be less hurried.

One of the practices that the author offered was to make a list of things you want to accomplish before a certain date. For her, it was a “40 before 40”. Her list had everything on it from write a book to paint a picture. The scale of each was different. But everything on the list was something she wanted to do—something that would bring her life and make her feel like a person. I loved this concept, so naturally, I made my own and being that I was 37 at the time, I made mine a “40 before 40” as well.

I loved making this list. There were book goals, and step goals, and baking goals. There were goals surrounding mental health and goals around fitness and goals around making time for myself. There were goals on goals with goals. I was stoked. I was inspired.

I was exhausted.

you better werk

Since making my 40 before 40, I have looked back on it several times, tracking to see what I could check off. Like any good first born, I wanted to track my progress because I would obviously receive my self worth from what I had accomplished.

Make sourdough bread: check.

Plant and grown zinnias and dahlias: check.

Plant and grown a small vegetable garden: check.

But the list is 40 items deep and to be frank, I am not sure that 39 year old me even cares that much about what 37 year old me wanted. And that was a mere two years ago.

This is not an essay on self love and the love of a good God who does not need me to accomplish anything in particular to be worthy of His love. It’s true, but if you’ve read along for a while, you know that I attempt to ask more questions than seek answers.

So I wonder why I allowed something that seemed like a good idea (read: is a good idea) to become this engine of anxiety and shame for me.

a morning ritual for Sam is to sit in front of the vent and drink milk while the heat kicks on. This kid IS goals.

zero sum game

I have big goals written. I have small ones as well. But their values were not equal.

My list has things that might take years to accomplish that I was attempting to rush. Other goals I was agonizing over because of analysis paralysis. Others still I crushed quickly and either found them to be very rewarding, or completely empty of value.

The sum did not equal the parts.

I looked at my list on my birthday. I shook my head. Why “before 40”? Why complete a 5k when I hate running? Why sing karaoke in front of strangers when I’d rather do it in front of drunk friends?

My values were off.

Everything on the list was good. Everything was worthy of time. But sometimes my why didn’t make much sense. I needed grace with some, and I needed pressure with others. Some I need the help of outside resources to accomplish. Some I actually don’t want, but told myself I did because other wives/mothers/women closing in on forty want them.

It’s alleviating to look at a goal (or in this case, a list of goals) and cast a lens of grace over it. In two more years I might have checked off a few more, and I hope I’ve thrown others out that don’t matter as much anymore.

I’m finding myself and I’m listening. I’ve done hard things and am not (always) afraid of them. But doing a hard thing that has no real value to me? That’s not tenacity, that’s stupidity.

the current list

It remains the same for now. I want to work on my sourdough game because I enjoy eating sourdough bread. I do want to weight train three times a week because feeling strong makes me feel capable. I no longer need to publish a book before I’m forty. It’s still a goal, but the finish line feels more coated in grace. I think I would like to run a 5k, but mainly because I’m a heart patient and I think it’d be fun to prove to myself I’m capable of doing hard things that aren’t only forced upon me (but I’ll eat my hat before I sign up for a half marathon).

A daily list keeps me anchored. It’s the list that feels like liturgy and prayer.
Feed the dogs
Take Sam to preschool
Work out at the Y
Start the laundry
Meal plan
Write a little
Read something fun
Cook for my men
Make a return
Laugh with a friend
Wash the infinite dishes
Take a walk
Notice the clear night sky
Take a breath

Give value where value is. Don’t hold anything too tightly. Thank God for the pain and the beauty. And figure out what matters day by day, year by year.

Always,
Emily

P.S. What made the list (and had value) this week: make a pie, pick out a Christmas tree with my family, take some alone time for myself on my birthday, pick the winner of the national dog show, again (I am the Nostradamus of the dog show and I have witnesses that can back that statement up).