On a rainy day in June back in 2012, I was assessing the last of the items that needed to be unpacked in our new home.  I was down to the remaining few archive boxes that I knew were filled with stuff.  Old memos, reminders and mainly bills and boring household paperwork that was in print form as it was back then.  I also hoped though that somewhere in those boxes were some old personal journals and other items from years gone by.

I made a cup of tea and commenced what I hoped was going to be done in an hour.

First box, all in the recycling bin.  Second box, all in the rubbish, whilst reminding myself to find a better system so I didn’t accumulate all this junk and paper!  Third box, I was there for three hours.

In this third box, I found an assortment of old journals as I had anticipated, goals I had written, visioning plans I had made, and most importantly a very old enamel ring that my dad had bought me when I was a six-year-old girl, and our family visited my parents birthplace, Lipari a small island, part of the group of Aeolian Islands, off the northern coast of Sicily in Italy.  The ring was chipped on the underside, and whilst I could only get the ring on my pinkie finger, I loved looking at the colours in it.  Burgundy, pinks and white, in an intricate floral design.  I remembered the day dad bought it for me.  In a small market stall by the beach, on another one of the Aeolian islands, Panarea. The ring brought back the memories of a long summer down at the beach, meeting new relatives, and being immersed in the culture of my parents’ original country.  I loved that ring, and I still have it today.  It is even more special to me now, as one of many beautiful reminders of my dad who passed away this year.

Whilst unpacking and wearing my little enamel ring on my pinkie finger, I took a long trip down another memory lane, where I found old hopes, visions and dreams bound in the journals that I had diligently written in decades earlier.  As I was flicking through a journal from 2001, eleven years earlier, a yellow sheet of lined paper folded neatly in thirds fell out. I picked it up, carefully unfolded it and recognised my handwriting instantly.  The sheet was entitled, “10-year goals”.  As I read it, I remembered where I was ten years earlier when I had written those goals.  At the time, I was just married, had moved into an old, unrenovated but perfect first house, was commencing my career having completed my undergraduate studies and was yet to have any children.  That day I had introduced the idea of writing down our goals separately to my then husband, and then comparing our goals, to see what we wanted to achieve together.  He was sceptical about the idea but played along.  He had his, I had mine, and whilst there was some overlap, there were also separate dreams and ambitions, perhaps an ominous sign of a short marriage for us both!

My goals were focused on career, post graduate study, travel, experiences, homes and cars.  Symbols of what I believed to be measures of success as I progressed a climb that I would realise in years to come would bring limited joy if I only focused on materialistic items.

The day that I wrote down the goals, was the last day that I looked at those goals for eleven years.  That yellow piece of folded paper remained in a box for over a decade, never being read or remembered.  However, on the day that I wrote those goals, I was committing to paper the goals I had in my mind for years.  They were not new goals, but they were now written, no longer dreams and wishes I had.  A somehow magical transfer of wishes to reality occurred when I wrote down those goals.  And I would not realise that until more than a decade later.

Fast forward to 2012 as I sat in my new home, with my new partner, and my four year old daughter and six year old stepson, I read the “10-year goals” list.  Nine out of the eleven goals had been achieved. 

I was living in the place I wanted to live in.

I had completed post graduate study.

I had bought the dream car.

I had travelled to the places I had listed.

I had commenced the Phd.

I had been given the gift of my daughter and a stepson, after an unexpected miscarriage.

I had been blessed with being loved by my new partner, after I had experienced a divorce that tested every bit of resilience in me.

I had focused on my health and wellbeing.

I had achieved the career I wanted.

I had not worked overseas, and I had not completed a PhD.

I read the list with appreciation, and a sense of awe.  Could it really be that after all this time, I had achieved most of my goals and visions, while dealing with a few surprises’ life decided to throw in?  I knew that it was not about luck.  It was about commitment, consistency and conviction.  I stayed the course.  I trusted myself to set lofty goals and achieve them.   

I folded the piece of paper back neatly following the original fold lines and placed it carefully back in the box with my other journals.  That is a box that won’t be discarded, but rather cherished as a reminder that stuff happens when we are committed to achieving things. 

Rita Cincotta writes, mentors, and speaks on individual and team performance, leadership development, resilience and new ways of working. She works with organisations to develop human centred solutions that help people and businesses to thrive.