Planning a New Year in Dementiaville

New Year's resolutions? Nope. Never, in fact. Goals and objectives? Yes, of course.

Throughout the years, it's made more sense for me to establish personal goals and define what will get me there rather than make resolutions that are destined to fail. (See Blame It on the Brain for a discussion about the science behind failed resolutions.)

For decades now, I've been recording and tracking my goals on a simple form that I found tucked in the back of a generic sort of day planner. This goal sheet contains seven areas, each addressing a piece of the pie that represents a balanced life:

• Intellectual (books, education, self-improvement)
• Physical (exercise, nutrition, health)
• Spiritual (psychological growth, fulfillment)
• Family (activities, outings, priorities)
• Financial (income, budget, security)
• Career (position, level, expertise)
• Social (entertainment, friends, fun)

Living in balance has, of course, become even more important since I've been a caregiver...and much more difficult. It now takes more focus, more time, more patience to complete a goal. As a result, I have fewer of them -- many fewer. For example, a couple of years ago, my only goal in the "Career" area was to create an art studio in my home. Before I was a caregiver, that task would have taken me a weekend to complete. As a caregiver, however, it took about six weeks. Time is simply not as available to me as it was previously, and I've had to make peace with that. Life has been much easier since letting go of being the super achiever I once was. And although life has not slowed down, I have learned to be easier on myself...and on others as well.

What I didn't expect from an art studio was the benefits to my well-being. I could enter the studio, my private place, whenever I wished! I could do all of the things that disturbed Romeo when I did them in the common areas of our home. In my studio, I created art to enter into local shows, I played music, I danced (on some occasions, this is all I did in there), I laughed. I also used the space to write, read, meditate. In short, I found myself again. Sometimes in my studio, I cried tears of joy for simply having a space of my own.

Throughout the time I've spent being Romeo's caregiver, I've learned that not having as much time available for myself is truly okay. It is, after all, a temporary situation. For now, my objective is to remain as balanced as possible while taking care of Romeo. My main role as caregiver allows time to take the small steps toward what I want to do. So what if it takes much more time for me to get there? I don't know what's more important than taking care of Romeo, besides taking care of me.