I can remember my mother reciting, “the path to hell is made up of good intentions”. I had no idea what that meant at the time, but yesterday, I realized that I might be the poster child for intentions that aren’t leading to hell, but instead aren’t going anywhere.
While looking for something in a drawer located in my bedside table, I found two journals that put me on heightened alert. You see, when the boys were born, I bought journals where I would write inspirational messages to them, so that when I was dead, they would refer to them often and remember me as the mother who took time to write. Well, I haven’t written in them for over ten years. Even when I did write in them there were lapses in them. My good intentions of providing a written legacy led to nothing more than a few messages. It is quite possible that I spent the time actually experiencing those moments lost from those journals, but nevertheless, my commitment fell short.
Even with my health goals, my intentions get blurred. Last night, I made a comment, in passing to my spouse, about missing a local ice cream establishment. It had a drive-thru which made it even more convenient. My commitment to my weight issue has been to not eat anything after 8 pm. I drank a bottle of water and was content until my spouse came back from a meeting bearing a salted caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream. This was at 8:45. My initial reaction was to scream that I can’t possibly have that, but then I remembered that his intention was to do something kind for me, so my intention took a hiatus and I enjoyed that creamy slice of heaven until it had disappeared.
I think setting an intention is great as long as you don’t become rigid about it. The reality is that my boys probably wouldn’t have spend a great deal of time mulling over my written legacy to them and I certainly won’t gain 50 pounds at the hands of one delicious milkshake. The path to happiness is set with realistic intentions that can blend with whatever life throws at you.