We give many words to goals.
We call them resolutions, which is to say that we are resolved to do a thing. We call them wishes for ourselves, which invalidates their strength. We call them desires, which stengthens their intention, but weakens their execution. We call them destinations, which takes the importance from the journey. And, of course, we call them goals, which seems to me to take the resposibility from the individual.
Even so, when there isn't a word for a concept, does not the concept still exist? And if a concept exists should not we, as individuals, give importance to such a thing?
If we desire something to change, what makes it so difficult to change? It should be enough to want to change something and, presuming it is within our power, to simply change it. But these things are not so simple.
It would be brilliant to be as beautifully detached from the absurdity of life as Camus' character Mersault. But such things do not truly exist. So, the painful longing of a friend now gone from a world still lingers. I do not wish so much for the sadness to leave, but rather for my own reactions to change, as I am not coping well.
I do not pretend to understand these questions nor the purpose of any man or woman. I understand a little, and that is enough. I suppose one could say that I am a woman in search of a word. And by word, I mean I am still searching to give meaning to my own life.
Engagé!
