I’ve recently realised that I’m not the most ambitious of people.

Sure, I want to have a good life, but I don’t really have any clear goals in mind. I mean, I’d like to get to the end of my life feeling like I wasn’t a totally shit person, that I had a reasonably good time and that I’d done enough cool stuff to justify the amount of resources that went into keeping me alive. I want to have formed some incredible bonds with people and, hopefully, not completely hate myself by the end of it.

And that’s all great – and apparently the best way to approach life so you don’t set yourself up for failure.

But I felt the need for some tangible goals; some concrete criteria against which to measure whether my life was a failure or a raging success. I recently told my psychologist that my goal is simply to have goals – like, that wanted to be ambitious, but there wasn’t really anything I cared about all that much. So I’ve come up with a list of stuff that makes me go “yeah, that’d be pretty cool” or “I wouldn’t mind that”. Of course, some of these goals are loftier than others, but at the moment this is the best I have to work with. And I suppose if I’m going to all the effort to dream, I may as well dream big.

So here are a few things I wouldn’t mind ticking off my life to-do list:

To keep all my teeth for as long as possible: This requires me to brush regularly, floss daily and to avoid chewing on toxic corrosive waste. I’ve also got to keep out of street fights and not find myself in such a sad state after losing my job at the workhouse that I have to sell my molars to send money to feed my illegitimate daughter, who I foolishly left in the care of Borat and the woman who played Bellatrix LeStrange.

To win an Oscar: As a youngster I thought it would be for my acting, which I assumed I would excel at career-wise because I have a loud, booming voice, I was often picked to do the lengthier church readings or meatier, zanier parts in the over my like 24 schoolmate (that’s across about four year levels, mind you) and when we did an appallingly bad Harry Potter musical in Year 9, I got the only passing grade while the rest of my group failed. However, I’ve not yet landed any major roles. You could say that’s because I’m simply not good enough, but I prefer to look at it from the angle that I’ve not yet tried. I seem to couch a lot of my lack on success based on the fact that I’ve not tested my potential and so it still remains in tact; I can still fantasise about one day being great and say, “I probably could if I wanted to”. It’s a nice safe way of maintaining your baseless sense of self-importance.

But, yet, I’m getting to the point where, if I want a magazine article to say “and she did it all before she turned 30…” I’d best get a wriggle on.

And because I’m already fairly invested in writing, I might set my sights on winning an Oscar for screenwriting. And I shan’t be one of those names Australian broadcasters would cling to because Cate Blanchett took a year off and Nicole Kidman was focusing  on television. I will not be the name that makes people say “who?!” to their spouses in the living room when my name is read out on news. I’ll be a star in my own right, wearing bold yet tasteful choices – many involving capes – to red carpet events. I’ll be fabulous, deep thinking, very well connected and tastefully dressed 82 percent of the time. I’ll be involved in human rights advocacy, become close mates with David Attenborough and become well known for my flattering neckline choices.

And when Vogue finally comes over to do 73 Questions with Dannielle Maguire, I’ll nonchalantly motion to my Oscar statue, which will be displayed with my Hungry Jacks Crew Member of the Month certificate and my first pottery piece.

To have a set of signature jewellery with a matching dagger: I saw this in a museum in London once and was inspired. It was exactly the kind of ancient empress style of extra I often yearn for. I’d like a breastplate style of necklace, with bold matching earring and a dagger for me to fondle while I laze about in my luxurious chamber, plotting my next move. At this stage, I’m thinking I want the pieces to be cast in bronze and to involve a milky opaque stone. Nothing overly sparkly, but classic and tasteful.

To have a house complete with a luxurious chamber: This requires me to remain employed, invest my money wisely and not waste my pennies on frivolous knick knacks and do-dads. Of course, a custom-forged dagger and jewellery set is important, but should probably aim to have a palace to call my own before I go out commissioning blacksmiths. For a while there I dreamt of having a room that was essentially the inside of Genie’s lamp from I Dream of Genie, but now I’m moving more towards the aesthetic  of the house from Practical Magic. So I have a bit of thinking to do about the overall vibe of the place, which is great, because I reckon I’ll need to gather a few more pennies together before I can own property and that’s going to take a bit of time.

To have my own cook book: Now, this is one I could easily do myself. I’ve already got a handful of recipes I could print out, staple together and claim victory. However, I’m going to try to aim higher than a cook booklet, because I really just want to have one of those photoshoots with classy aprons and fancy cookware – because I might just be able to take some of the props home for my own kitchen. Plus, I really want an outtake reel to show just how zany and approachable of a person I am – you know, poking my tongue out at the camera, offering the lighting expert a lick of the bowl, that kind of thing.

To appear on Sesame Street: I would not be the woman I am today without Sesame Street. That show is so funny and wholesome. I bloody loved the letter of the day and the sassy pig girl group and that orange ball with lips called Cecile. Can’t say for sure how the plasticine sass ball shaped my soul, but I know it was profound.

Of course, this goal requires me to achieve something in my own right first so we can have a gag to pin my appearance one, like when Nora Jones was on there singing “don’t know why, Y didn’t come” or when Feist sang “1, 2, 3, 4 monsters walking cross the floor” So this is a big motivator for me to actually do something with my life, purely so I can alliterate with furry monsters.

To have a Barbie doll fashioned after me: I have to start off by saying that my sister already made a Dannielle Barbie. Well, that is to say, she found a brown-haired Barbie, put her in a pinky pink blazer and swapped her for the blonde Barbie in the Journalism Barbie box. It was a very, very thoughtful gift that sits on my official home office desk. So I kind of already have this one.

But I would like it if the people at Mattel actually produced a Dannielle Barbie, like they did with Ita Buttrose. I mean, Ita has a lot to put on her resume, but imagine being able to put “Is a Barbie doll” on a job application form. Just imagine.

And while my career path has so far been somewhat less impressive than Ita’s, it’s encouraging to know that a career in journalism, writing and publishing could maybe one day lead to this goal. Again, this is something that would require me to not only achieve greatness, but to do so with class and sass. And this is a yuuuuge motivator for me career wise.

Instead of thinking small and being the sometimes petty and stroppy person I am, I need to think bigger; grander. I need to think about what would Barbie doll Dannielle Maguire do. Would she send a passive aggressive email, or would she approach the situation with pragmatic compassion and solve the problem face to face? Would she take a rejection letter as a sign to give up or use it to fan the flame of ambition? Would she settle for a quiet life of blandness or speed off into the sunset in a hot pink convertible, chasing down adventure?

If I think this way, not only will I have a sweet obituary, but I could one day be immortalised in plastic form.

Sure, she’d be a little chunkier than her predecessors and they’d have to work out a way to fit thongs on Barbie’s feet, but I like to think it’s possible.

So far, I’m thinking my accessories would be a laptop with a CD rom slit, a teapot and a scented candle.

To be parodied on either Family Guy, The Simpsons or South Park without authorisation: This would preferably happen while I was in a career lull, possibly after I’ve done something stupid, but hopefully not unforgivably offensive. I would use this platform as a springboard to get back up at ‘em, taking the cartoon roasting with good humour, making a T-shirt out of my caricature and showing the world that I was not done yet. Years later, while giving an interview about my life, I will speak about this woke me up and sparked a decades-long friendship with the show’s creators, who went on to become godparents to my delightful, well-adjusted children.