I’m a goal-orientated person with no goals.

#goals has been trending for months now, and I’m feeling left out. Every bastard with an iPhone and a flat brim has used the hashtag in an aspirational post these days. It could be a picture of a souped-up jeep or a muscle-laden couple or sweet pad – whatever it is they are shooting for. They post a photo of it, stamp it with the hashtag and tell the world what they want from their little lives. Now it isn’t often I’m envious of someone who thinks a personalised plate is a good use of money, but do admire these people for knowing what they want. Sure their goals may be trashy an unattainable, but at least they have them. For someone like me, not having a goal is not easy.

I wouldn’t say that I’m technically a Type A personality, but I do fit some of the criteria. I like to make lists. I like colour-coding things. I like order. Order is my favourite. I wouldn’t say that I’m frighteningly ambitious, but I bloody love crossing off a to-do list. To-do lists are my pingas. Really. I just Googled “The Affects of Pingas” (I promise I’m cool, I’ve been to Thailand ok?!) and all the symptoms match up. Increased confidence and energy? Check. Feelings of wellbeing? Check. Feelings of closeness to others and lowered inhibitions? Check-a-roo. I probably would consider a one-night stand after knocking off a to-do list, mostly because it would allow for the creation and completion of a whole other to-do list (winks).

I guess I’m addicted to the feeling of achievement a good to-do list can offer. And the best part about these lists is that they can be total bullshit. One day my to-do list was to buy a comical vest and bake brownies. And sure, that’s not as impressive as say, finishing an essay, doing 100 squats and submitting your tax return, but finishing a to-do list is finishing a to-do list and you’re guaranteed a spike of dopamine once you draw that final tick.

I’m really into achievement, but the problem is that I’m yet to think of something to achieve. Right now I’m in my fourth day of unemployment and the only things I’ve done with that time was avoiding a car accident when I vomited into my steering wheel in two lanes to traffic (don’t worry, that story is coming) and bake a batch of pumpkin scones.

I’m obviously hitting up the job search websites everyday, but I don’t know what direction I want my life to take. I don’t know where I want to end up, so it’s really hard to work out what step to take. At 24, teenage me thought I would have had that sorted out by now. A Younger Me thought that, by now, I’d own several intimidating blazers, have my own office, funky nails and my own typewriter (but then, A Younger Me based her career goals on the journey of Sue-Ellen Crandle from Don’t Tell Mom The Babysiter’s Dead).

Right now the only life goals I have are to avoid getting fat and to avoid getting poor. It’s pretty hard to base a career around that. I need more concrete, clear-cut goals. I need set ambitions. I need interests.

But at the moment, my concrete goal is to buy an Akubra. My ambition is to be able to financially support a Saint Bernard named Keith. My interests are complaining, magazines and champagne.

So this doesn’t do much by the way of pointing me in the right direction, career-wise. I feel like I have been given a huge opportunity to steer my life in a new, fulfilling direction thanks to this work hiatus. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something big. But it’s difficult to take those first few steps without a clue of where I’m going to end up.

As much as I hate being the clichéd 20-year-old with unprofessionally long hair finding herself; I need to do a bit of soul searching. I have to “go on a journey to me”, which is a cringe-worthy phrase that sounds like a euphemism for masturbation, but that’s apparently what I need to do.

So I’m going to go ahead an embrace the cliché. I need to find out who I am. I need to find out what I want from life. I need to come up with my goals. If for nothing else, it will mean I’ll able to finally use the hashtag #goals.