Sunday 29 September 2013

Onward, ever onward


I’ve got a problem. I’ve been seeing the Doctor way too much lately.  Dr. Mario that is. Some grown adults come home from a long day of work and unwind with a nice glass of wine or maybe an hour in front of the boob tube. My decompression comes with a few rounds of Dr. Mario coupled with some good music (okay it’s Taylor Swift or Dixie Chicks…define good).

At almost thirty years of age, it feels absurd to even admit this but I don’t have kids, don’t drink wine and can’t play sports right now. So Dr. Mario it is.

That’s my escape. And I thought it was completely mind-numbing until Friday, as I waited for my husband to get home, the game got me thinking.

Every time I play, I start at the highest level (20) at the highest speed (super fast) and try to get to level 30 without having to restart. That’s my goal. Every time.

It used to be impossible and would suck hours of my life (I know, I need kids) but now I pretty much do it every time then turn the game off and I’m done.

There’s a lot going on in that game. Simplified—you’ve got a lot of coloured pills that need to disappear.

And I think I’ve finally figured it out. There’s a little screen at the top corner that helps out by showing you the next pills that will drop. I look just far enough ahead to start planning where I’ll next lay the little pills.

It can get tricky because when the pills are piled right up to the top of the screen, one wrong move ends your game.

So there I was Friday, cruising away at Level 24 when I got too aggressive on one of my corners. The far right side was stacked right up to the top. And the added challenge is the speed increases as the game goes on. If you don’t get to those pesky top corners in the first few moves, you’re going to have to take the long bottom-up approach later.

I thought three steps ahead. And while I was thinking so far ahead, I screwed up and the game was over.

In real life, I’ve been thinking ahead. Where will I be in five, 10 years? Will we have a house? A kid? Kids?

When I was little (and still now really), I just really, really wanted a glimpse of my future. I wished I could just see a two-second clip of my future life. Would I have a husband and family? Would I live solo with my dogs?

So many burning questions about all these life plans I was just too impatient to wait for answers for. But the wait’s been worth it. So far. No dogs yet but I am thankful every day for the many blessings I have.

Funny thing is, they didn’t come from looking too far ahead. Just far enough ahead. Along the way, I’ve set goals. I’ve met some and watched some fade away. Impatiently I’ve waited for some to be realized and some I’ve agonized over not realizing.

There are great stories of success out there and I bet they have wicked advice but what that simple video game got me thinking about was the importance of taking things one step at a time with just enough foresight to not have to watch it all implode.

Looking big picture is important but if we’re just focusing on the massive spread, we might not see the peaks and valleys between us and that mountaintop we’re striving for.

As 2013 starts to come to a close (I know, it’s only almost October but time flies!), a new set of goals will come out. And I’ll look back at last year’s goals. No, we didn’t win that championship with the Curvies but man did we have a blast trying. And I still haven’t published a song but I did play and write.

Some goals will have to go back on the list for 2014 and some I’ll just have to let go.  There might be some new goals this time around. Rather than dwell on the unfulfilled dreams and expectations, I choose to look forward.

A wise man once said Everest is climbed one step at a time with your eyes ever forward. Okay, I don’t know if a wise man ever said that and if I were climbing that mountain, I’d probably have my head down the entire time out of sheer exhaustion. But the principle’s true: we get to where we’re going by moving forward with our eyes on the prize. It’s the best way I know how at least.