Christmas trees lay abandoned by the curb. Holiday decorations are in various stages of packed up and put away. Stray strands of tinsel and stubborn specks of glitter are still, somehow, sticking to our socks. It’s time to bring our Muppet Christmas Carol series to a close. (If you’re catching up or you fancy a reread, you can visit the past and the present whenever you’d like)
I know the holidays feel long gone at this point, but, much like this part of the movie, our final visit has less to do with Christmas and more to do with what happens next.
And so, as one season shrinks in our rearview mirror, we face forward in our seats and look toward the future. (Spoiler alert: I have no idea where we’re going…)
That the Ghost of Christmas Future is silent, faceless, and ambiguous feels like maybe the most spot-on depiction of this whole movie.
To be honest, I always hated this part. And, by association, The Future Ghost. Yes, I know. He was just there to point out where Scrooge was headed if he didn’t make the changes he needed to make. But did it have to be so dark and spooky? Not to mention that, at this point, Scrooge doesn’t really need any more convincing. He has left the warm, cozy company of his jolly, Present friend, and is eager for guidance. He has seen the errors of his ways and he is ready to convert.
The Future, however, offers nothing. No recognition for his change of tune. No compassion or adaptation for his newfound willingness to learn. The future remains grim- something to fear, always delivering the inevitable.
What are we to do with all of this uncertainty?
We are past the point of pretending it doesn’t exist. And we know (now) that we can’t control it with directives or influence it with sheer force of will (no matter how strong or how stubborn we are). There are no ways around it, no shortcuts to avoid it, no hacks to automate it.
It turns out that every path- the risky ones, the right ones, the safe ones, even the pre-paved ones- run right through it. Turns out that every path was just an illusion to begin with. An Alice In Wonderland-like trail, both creating and erasing itself with every single step. We are only ever right where we are.
So where does that leave us?
If the future is uncertain, doesn’t that also mean the future is not fixed?
Most years, I start with a bang. I love a clean slate. I love the confidence and clarity of a new plan. My optimistic nature thrives in possibility, and what holds more possibility and optimism than a fresh start?
My rally cry is usually something along the lines of “This is the year I will start (insert the things I have been avoiding or putting off, probably for months, if not years)! This is the year I will finish (insert projects upon which my entire future success hinges)! This is the year I will finally become (insert profession, accomplishments, and characteristics that make up my ultimate, ideal self).”
This year feels different.
Maybe it’s because I made real progress last year. I actually pushed goals forward that, in the past, I only pushed from one new year’s list to the next new year’s list, and I just want to enjoy the progress I worked so hard to make. I want to pick up where I left off, not start all over again.
Maybe it’s because, in the accomplishing of these goals, I have a much clearer idea of what it takes. How (deceptively) hard those small steps are, how much effort and commitment they require. How they move both forwards and backwards and you either account for that or you don’t, but it happens regardless.
My magical thinking is no match for last year’s reality check. It feels impossible to wish or dream without incorporating this very practical information. It feels hard to ignore what actually worked in favor of what feels better, but rarely got me anywhere.
My goal-making process, probably related to my goal-meeting approach, has had more to do with where I was going and less to do with how I would (actually, practically) get there. Oh, I had a plan. But it was broad and big and largely relied on giant leaps and lottery luck. I could see where I was and where I wanted to end up, and all my effort was spent trying to clear the gap in one big jump. Trying to position myself and line everything else up so that lightning could strike and, all of a sudden, I would be there- transported to the other side.
It’s that ‘all of a sudden’ thinking that has gotten me into trouble.
I suppose you could say that I have had a tendency to expect a future that completely ignores my past experience. I have held a child-like expectation that simply making bold and enthusiastic declarations, in correspondence with the calendar, will command such change into being. Like magic. (This, despite the fact that it didn’t work last year- which was really only a few days ago- or the year before that, or the year before that…)
Naive, yes. But probably not uncommon.
How many times have we watched a character decide to change, wake up the next morning, throw back the bed curtains, and emerge a better person?
This year, we watched Spirited1, Apple TV’s cheeky take on the traditional Christmas Carol story. What it lacked in muppets, it made up for in Ryan Reynolds’ charisma and Will Ferrell’s charm. Part satire, part full-hearted adaptation, its winks and nods felt like a generous gesture intended for those of us who grew up with this story, who still love this story, but know a little better now.
Where A Muppet Christmas Carol promises overnight transformation, Spirited challenges the idea of change altogether. Can people ever really change? And if so, how? And if so, why? What will prompt and continue to motivate us to do the hard, continuous work of going against our habits, our tendencies, retraining our comfortable (or, at least, familiar) character flaws and coping mechanisms?
What if we don’t want to change? What if we do, but we can’t? What if we do, but it doesn’t last? Does change count if it’s not all at once? Does it mean less if it’s small or partial or circumstantial? What about if it’s inconsistent?
Is it bad if we only change for someone else? Or is it better? Or does that even matter?
I want to say that I know I have changed a lot, but it might be more accurate to say that I am changing a lot. Part choice, part necessity, part inevitability. I can hear the difference in myself when I’m talking or listening to my thinking. I can feel it when I am in the context of others. I can see it in my journals, reading back through old worries and fears that filled pages and pages, and (it’s the strangest thing) when I look at the date, I can’t believe how recent the shift was, because I already can’t really remember feeling that way.
Sometimes I slide back into an older version, an expiring pattern. Sometimes I regress on purpose, or at least with awareness. I just let myself do the easy, more automatic thing and, weirdly, that still feels like growth. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I catch myself in the middle or the aftermath and, in those moments, I feel pretty convinced that there is no such thing as real change.
The very fact that I am sitting here, not trying to tackle the ambiguity by asserting control over a specific outcome or predict the future with goals that don’t account for the many interdependent, interconnected unknowns- that feels like…something.
At the end of the year, I was reminded of something I said when 2022 began. At the time, I was asked how I was moving into the new year and (speaking of things I don’t remember saying), I told the group “I know I will not know the full picture of what I’m doing until it’s out in the world. I know it will take shape, that I will take shape, when I’ve just done the damn thing.”
I think for now, the best I can do is pick up where I left off. Take small steps in the right direction and prepare to adjust accordingly. Wake up each morning, throw back the bed curtains, and choose who I want to be- a little better every day.
P.S. Outsourced Optimism will be on a brief pause while I create space to fill my inspiration bucket, experiment with some wild ideas, and mind map the future (one of my favorite ways to dream and roadmap at the same time) I will see you again in about a month- just in time for Valentine’s Day 💛
In the meantime, I would love to hear how you’re thinking about the year ahead. Are you opting out of the standard new years approach, too? Forfeiting resolutions for something less definitive? Or do you have smart goals and big plans? A word for the year? A hobby you’re starting? A book you’re excited to read?….Still in vacation mode?
P.P.S. If you need some Outsourced in the meantime, here were our three greatest hits of 2022: A Self Portrait In Motion Pictures, Season Endings & Series Finales, Looking At Life Through A Bagel: An Experiment
I was really quite pleased when I reviewed the goals I had set for 2022 how many I had met, and it was pretty easy to roll them over with a little modification of details. I think the secret to my success came from a life-time of learning how to do a better job of coming up with achievable goals. But I can also see how this year what also was crucial was my willingness to modify those goals (rather than just fail to achieve them) along the way. As a simple example, I had as a goal, walk for 60 minutes every day. Then I broke my toe, which limited walking and then took a long time to heal. So, after reading an article that said that house cleaning was the exercise equivalent of moderate walking speed, I then started counting the time I spent cleaning every day, and viola! I was still getting in my 60 mins and once I was back up to walking 60 minutes I actually could up my goal to average 90 mins exercise a day. Instead of failure, I had turned this into success. In the past I would have thrown up my hands and probably gotten out of walking habit altogether as having "failed." And, keeping up the exercise helped me maintain the emotional and physical health to keep writing.. Again, while the specific publication goals shifted (a short story turned into a novella, and rewriting one novella was dropped to be the beginning of a novel in a completely different series) I did write 140,000 words this past year. So shifting from writing and publishing specific pieces shifted to getting certain number of words written a week and the result was a much more satisfying way to achieve that goal. And I think this echos your decision to both learn from experience and embrace uncertainty. May your year be full of lovely surprises that renew your optimism.
Your words definitely match my experience and changing attitudes and actions. I used to plan things like vacations many months, even years in a few cases, in advance. I used to be sure I’d stay in the same career (a traditional job with the illusion of security and guaranteed income) until I retired.
Then COVID hit and the world changed in ways no one expected. Many of us realized we didn’t want to return to the lives (or at least the jobs) we used to have; others lost their jobs involuntarily and were forced to find new ways to generate income.
Also, the nonrefundable plane tickets I bought in February 2020 for a summer trip became useless (though I was finally able to use the credit almost two years later).
The dream vacation I had carefully planned for 2021 after extensive research (and paid a deposit on, since one activity regularly sold out more than a year in advance) also got canceled.
So ... I don’t plan much anymore. I’m learning to go with the flow, try new things, and adjust my original strategies for getting where I think I want to go based on what happens along the way.
I’m realizing how little control I have over the outcomes I want, despite my plans and hard work, because there are so many variables I can’t predict or influence.
It’s a much healthier and more realistic approach to life, but I don’t always think that way. I miss the illusions of security and control. I sometimes still try to force specific outcomes and convince people to do what I want them to.
I’d rather know where I’m going, how I’ll get there, and how long it will take, even though I now know that’s not possible.