You know the type.
Batshit crazy to others. Except you.
A goal that makes you pee your pants a little just thinking about it.
Something you’ve dreamt of all your life but kept hidden from others for fear of judgement or ridicule.
A goal so ambitious it looks impossible, given the current snapshot of your life.
Let me elaborate with an example.
A goal is to learn how to play the guitar.
A scary goal is to busk in public.
A big, scary goal is to headline in front of thousands at a festival.
I spent my twenties ticking bucket list items AKA goals. Some were scary – see bungee, skydive and swimming with sharks. All were relatively easily achieved, with enough courage (or alcohol) and finances. However, none served a greater good. They didn’t connect with a deeper passion to further a life’s ambition.
In the context of purpose and what gets me motivated, I realised writing was ‘it‘ quite early in my life. Although, sometimes even the most compatible lovers experience disharmony at certain stages of their relationship. Poor career advice during my teenage years carted me through the sausage factory and spat me into the accounting profession. Hello analytical left-brain. Goodbye creative right-brain.
Earning a crust and paying off student loans pushed fanciful ideas like writing a novel into the periphery. After all, I had to ground myself in the real world with practical concerns.
I’ve always been writing in one form or another, ever since I was a kid. Short stories for friends in school. Poems for my parents. Blogs (this is my third iteration after a sobriety blog and a ‘Pick-Up Artist‘ blog. Yes. Really).
I’m not a particularly religious person (although there is a strong religious theme in my latest book, SIGIL and my next book RAISING LAZARUS), but the ‘Parable of the Sower‘ always stood out in my mind as one of the rare occurrences when the bible made sense to me.
In my twenties, the seed of my writing career fell down a dusty crack in the road and would have stayed there forever if I hadn’t teased it out and planted it in some fertile soil.
A simple goal was set – unknown to a single soul. Write a book. That was ten years ago. For some, that in itself is a big, scary goal. Why write, if not to share with others?
A scary goal – Publish a book(s), announce to the world that I, a second incarnation of Leo Tolstoy, had arrived and actively promote myself through a website (eek!) and social channels. Scary enough? Nearly there.
The big, scary goal is, and still remains – become a bestselling author of multiple titles earning enough money to leave behind the corporate world to pursue a career in writing, full-time.
I think I just wet myself.
What are your big, scary goals?