When I stopped worrying about where I'd be in the future, I started getting the most out of today.
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" The woman inquiring was beautiful, interesting and ambitious. We were on a blind date, and this was her 20th such question (I suspect she had memorized the list from a women's magazine). Still, it wasn't the interrogation that left me speechless. It was that one question.
"Ten years?" I pondered, poking at a wayward carrot with my fork. "I sort of like the idea of living on an abandoned farm in North Carolina, maybe."
I could tell from her expression I didn't score any points. No solid goals. He's a loser, her magazine would proclaim. I suspect much of society would agree. The funny part is, I once was a goals junkie who could have written those same questions.
My romance with goalmaking began in high school when I read an article claiming the real key to success was detailed goals. I embraced the concept. By the time I graduated, I had very specific plans for my future (few of which happened). When I entered college, my first essay for freshman composition was about my goals for, yes, the next 10 years.
Later, when I became a teacher (which was never my plan), I preached goalmaking to anyone who would listen: friends, students, colleagues and a stranger on a plane. Twice I was even paid to speak on the serious business of goals.
I pontificated on the value of goals as the strongest force for motivation. I lectured on the finer points of establishing short-, medium- and long-term goals to help stay on track. I exalted the virtues of quarterly goals checkups. At the peak of my infatuation with targeting the future, I began taking notes to write the definitive book on goals.
