Those five words, asked by my cousin at my brother's wedding this past weekend, brought everything back into focus.
If you squint your eyes and tilt your head, I hit the number—but only on paper using some questionable arithmetic, and only on a technicality. I didn't do it the way I had intended to: by supplementing (with the larger goal of ultimately replacing) my income through side efforts.
I lost a lot of personal momentum after Ruby died. When we were together, she was always my biggest supporter. Even after the separation and divorce, we continued to cheer each other on in our respective endeavors.
We had just started to connect more in December and January, and I was looking forward to seeing what she had planned. Our last meeting was meant to be a work date—lunch and then coffee as we tapped away at our projects. But when she broke the news of her relapse, it didn't feel appropriate somehow, so we parted after eating.
I often think back to our last hug, and wonder if that wasn't the moment—the one which could have altered the course of history. As we said goodbye that Sunday afternoon, we made plans to get coffee on Tuesday. By Monday evening she had disappeared, having presumably checked herself in somewhere. She wouldn't surface again until they found her the following Sunday.
What if I had stayed a little longer? What if we had talked a little more?
But I digress.
No, I did not meet my goal. I haven't met many goals these past six months.
It's time to change that.