My new writing goal

Everyone should occasionally re-evaluate their goals. You just never know, you may decide the original goal is (a) impossible, (b) no longer worthy of pursuit, or (c) insufficiently lofty (unlikely, at least for some of us).  It is generally agreed that specific, measurable goals are good, and that vague, unmeasurable goals are not so good.

(Don’t you love sentences like that last one? “It is agreed….” No one knows what “it” means, and no one knows who is doing the agreeing. I never used to notice such things, but now, they drive me nuts.)

I have a new dissertation-related goal: I am determined to graduate before Texas A&M builds any new buildings. (Finishing a building currently under construction doesn’t count). This goal is specific, measurable, and at least partly under my control. Based on my current coordinates on the dissertation continuum, accomplishing this goal seems possible. Of course, it is also possible that A&M could fast-track a building and throw it up in a year, in which case the goal is hopeless.

(Or should that say “I am hopeless”? Can a goal be hopeless? Or depressed? I’ve probably been spending too much time obsessing over grammar this week.)

Why on earth would I choose such a goal? I’ve considered it a couple of times, whenever a favorite parking lot was erased, replaced by a beautiful new building. Someday I need to research exactly how many brand-new buildings were constructed, from drawing board to completion, while I was writing my dissertation. I can think of at least four without even looking at a map. At least one is currently under construction—probably more.  

The impetus for turning this vague observation about new buildings into a concrete goal occurred last Thursday. After leaving my writing class early, I embarked on an advisor-ambushing mission. Timing was critical. My destination was the familiar Blocker building in which I’d completed two courses and met my advisor many times. Unfortunately, I approached the building from an unfamiliar heading, because my starting point was Kyle Field instead of Parking Lot 50. I found myself standing on a busy sidewalk, shading my eyes and scanning the skyline in all directions, trying to figure out which building was the one I wanted. I knew a new building had been constructed on the parking lot next to Blocker, but I couldn’t figure out which building it was! All the buildings looked unfamiliar, and at least two looked brand-new. I was certain I was in the right neighborhood, but was clueless as to whether I should bear left or bear right. As I looked at my watch, I felt a twinge of panic….if I didn’t get there in time, my advisor would finish his class, leave his classroom, and wander off into the Blue.

In desperation, I swallowed my pride and asked the nearest student how to find the Blocker building. I was so grateful to the young gentleman, who removed his headphones and kindly pointed me in the correct direction. I discovered I had overshot the building, wasting precious minutes by walking too far to the east. I doubled back, and soon could see my building, dwarfed by its newly built neighbor. Fortunately, I arrived in time, met my advisor, and all was well. If I had tried to find the building on my own, without help, I undoubtedly would have wandered in a fog for at least ten minutes, and my mission would have failed.

The next day, I set off for Blocker again (the previous day’s quest had been to set up a reading meeting with advisor). Once again, though starting off from familiar Lot 50, my complete confusion with all the new buildings caused me to overshoot my destination. This time, I noticed the mistake myself, without outside help, and changed course before I had gone very far out of the way.

Feeling like a complete idiot, I resolved to finish my dissertation before more new buildings caused me to completely lose my grip on reality.