In the last year, my me-list has grown to a fairly healthy length. Different than a to-do list, which I consider to be riddled with unexciting-yet-necessary things such as laundry, grocery shopping, sweeping out a garage and exercising a recently-operated-upon knee (a necessary evil which is, in fact, both irritatingly necessary and painfully evil), a me-list is your personal, hopefully ever-evolving list of things that pique your interest and that you want to tackle and check off for, well, yourself. Just because you can.

Just over a week ago, I vowed to not miss a night of blogging all year. It’s one thing to start a blog and get around to writing something — anything — whenever inspiration pays you a visit. It’s another thing entirely when one’s blog has an intentionally specific focus, and when the remaining 355 days in the year seem like they’re concrete bricks that make up a very, very tall wall. It’s daunting already, and I’m sure I’ll feel this way plenty more times in the months ahead. But Thanky’s rules are strict by design.

I’ve started those whatever/whenever blogs and, for me, they don’t go anywhere. Their focus is cross-eyed instead of spot-on, and not holding myself to do it every day or night means that I can skip a day. Or two. Or twenty. And it doesn’t really matter. It just makes my excuse-crafting better. Which is bad.

With Thanky, the reason I enabled the autopost-to-Facebook feature is to hold myself accountable so that I can reach a personal goal. Period. Maybe nobody has bothered to read the “Vows” page of the blog, but the fact that I know “never miss a day” is spelled out means that, even though I’m only on deadline for myself and my year-long series of nightly calendar reminders, I’ll still be letting someone down: me. And aren’t we the most important person when it comes to tackling our me-lists?

Sometimes I feel like liberty makes us complacent. For the most part we can go wherever we want, whenever we please. Because of that, I feel like many take it for granted. I know I do. I think something will be there/available/reachable/doable tomorrow, so I put it off. And off. And off. And before you know it, my quest for whatever I bothered to put on my me-list in the first place has turned pointless. Voiceless. Like my wayward blogs.

Can you imagine living a life where your daily objective is simply to survive? Or to find food for your children? Or to hope that whatever illness you’re harboring — because you have no access to life-saving treatment — can hold off “just one more day” so that you can savor a sunrise that gets ignored by most?

I can’t.

It’s somewhat of tragedy when I can come home, play my piano, throw on my PJs, make a cup of decaf and wind down for the night before going to bed in a safe, warm, comfortable environment. It’s a tragedy that my main stressor is, “What will I write about this evening?” because so many in this world will never know the peace we take for granted. Daily.

Tonight I am thankful for being able to take my me-list seriously, while many in our own country and around the world are forced to focus on only what’s necessary for survival. Let’s tackle our me-lists and consider those who do not have the luxury of having one. You never know what good may stem from our accomplishments and ripple outward, possibly touching someone in need with a smile, an extra ounce of hope or the courage to keep pressing on.