I’ve taken to spelling things with Z’s, and indulging in other annoying internet speak. I do it in fun, and usually only when people will recognize that, but since people usually assume I’m serious about everything, they’re probably judging me right now.
I recently heard someone repeat that old statistic on Harvard MBAs. I don’t remember the numbers, but the point is that sometime in the 70s they asked everyone in the graduating class whether they had goals and whether those goals were written down. Several years later they followed up and the people who had goals, but didn’t write them down were making significantly more than those who didn’t have any goals at graduation, and those who had goals and had written them down were making something like twice as much as everyone else. So, go ahead and get a lesson about goals out of that. But, that’s not the surprising part of the study for me. The shocking thing to me is that out of the entire graduating class of Harvard MBAs only something like 3% had goals, and even fewer had written goals. What?
Maybe it’s weird that I was born of two people who list everything, and experience great joy in crossing things off those lists. Maybe it’s weird that I could ask my mom or dad for their lists of goals, and they could produce them in minutes. Maybe it’s weird that I can’t fathom walking through life without a plan. I just looked through the files on my computer. In my folder marked GOALS, there are six items. I have lifetime goals, whimsical goals (things like, make a grand entrance), summer goals, fitness goals, resolutions, and things to do before I turn 25. Making goals gives me comfort; for me, there’s security in having a plan. And, they make me happy. I get excited when I make a new plan.
I’m not waiting for a pat on the back for my diligence in making goals. Actually, I’m more interested in exploring why I do this so obsessively. I like success and praise as much as anyone, but I really think my need to make goals is existential. I stress about the limited time I have on earth and I fear that I’m not living the way that I should. I look to these goals and plans to somehow validate my existence—to make it real and meaningful. Time is flying by, and I try to make that less terrifying by achieving things. Yeah, it’s not working, but I’ll keep trying
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Ugh I feel sick when I think of how my time here is so limited. I’m great at making goals – and it makes me feel good to have goals ahead of me – but I’m just not always good at achieving them!