Tsiporah is turning 30. She has not met some of the goals she set for herself.

I wrote about setting S.M.A.R.T. goals here.

But I also think about a semi-autobiographical book I read once, that was set in a small town in Mississippi during the Depression. The family in the story, parents and two boys, were dirt-poor. The mom had two standards that she set for herself: She had to give her family biscuits, not cornbread, for breakfast each morning, and she had to iron their shirts and overalls before they wore them. (Ironing was done with metal flatirons that you heated on the stove, of course.) As long as she could do these things she felt that she could hold up her head. I think it was smart of this woman to attach her self-esteem to these things, which were mostly in her control, rather than to set her sights on things she couldn't have or do. And naturally, she was civilized in other ways: her sons had to be polite and respectful and use proper English, and so forth.

I don't know how possible it is to re-wire one's inner promptings. I am naturally a glass-half-full kind of person. I get down in the dumps every now and then but my spirit usually bobs back up like a piece of cork. Our income is a bit unsettled right now, although my job looks to be OK for the foreseeable future, i.e. the next few months at least. But every night that I lie down in my own bed, with food in my belly, my family OK, the cats OK, the bills paid, I think it was a good day. And we deliberately plan fun things to do, to make good memories and have something to talk about besides work and other grim stuff.

Anyway, happy birthday, Tsiporah. I think you'll look back on this time in your life and see that it was a time of personal growth and that you really were making progress toward your goals; slower than you would like, maybe, but unslacking and undeterred. And I hope you have lots of silly, happy memories of moments with your son and your friends.