When I was a high school football player, we would often have a grace period between the school letting out and the official start of football practice. This time was a less intense and more personable part of the day. In between setting up the sled for my fellow offensive lineman and stretching, the assistant coaches would roam the field and strike up conversations with us players, the topics ranging from light-hearted matters to more serious ones. One day my sophomore year, I had one such brief discussion, and its result has had deeply moving ripple effects that have touched my life to this very day, and likely will for the rest of my life.
Our defensive coordinator was a worldly fellow, one who truly loved shaping the next generation with his wisdom. This day was no exception. The discussion was admittedly not a long one, but with all of the ease of flicking a cigarette butt out of car window, he seemingly ran a freight train through my view of my life’s trajectory. He told me to write down my goals, whatever they may be, and mount them on a visible place and force myself to look at them every day. 15-year-old me was stunned; I had no idea what to say. The idea was so simple and accessible, yet so profound. For a moment, I had hated myself for not thinking of it sooner.
My internal rage did not last long. After practice, I had gotten home and raced upstairs to my room. I furiously wrote down what I had wanted in life (at that point in time). I taped it to the wall near my bed and took my coaches advice, I read it every day. What it did was give me focus, it made me concentrate on what truly mattered, and what would bring me closer to those goals. I felt I had the drive necessary, but I was like a car with no steering wheel. I always knew what I wanted, but it was merely floating around in my head. Committing to paper and making it visible daily had given a concrete weight to it. These weren’t just fanciful wishes anymore; these were suddenly much more real.
Friends of mine from high school would casually jab at my ever-visible list of life goals. Word had spread; I had once met a friend’s brother only to be met with him asking “You’re the kid with the bucket-list, right?”. Others would make fun of the concept of the visible practice, only to then later adopt the technique themselves to varying degrees.
A few years later in college, I was hit by a realization. I hadn’t attached an actionable plan to the goals that I had posted. Again, I was filled with a momentary self-anger for not thinking of it sooner (college-aged me had plenty of rage, but that’s a separate article). This wasn’t an issue in my teenage years because I had started to accomplish many of my original goals from that fateful football practice. However, I realized that wasn’t going to cut it anymore. So, I started furiously conjuring up and then writing down an actionable plan to all of my goals that I had written. I then started to section out shorter-term goals from longer term ones, again using my coach’s advice along with an actionable plan. Eventually, I started to accomplish the goals I had set out for myself. Each accomplishment gave way to me immediately writing a new, more difficult goal in that arena (I don’t believe in waiting until January 1st to do make a change, life is too short). The ramp-up in difficulty has brought a tangible benefit to my life because even my failures get me a lot closer than where I was in the beginning. Therefore, the advice has served me well.
Many people tend to feel lost after graduating college. The term quarter-life crisis has entered our popular lexicon in recent years; however, the ever-present list of life goals enabled me to side-step all of that angst entirely. The list of life goals governed what I was going to do in life, and if a potential big decision didn’t bring me closer to the accomplishing the list of goals, I didn’t do it. The list of life goals was the reason I never pursued graduate school (it wouldn’t bring me closer to my life goals) and hence prevented me from sacrificing several precious years and tens of thousands of dollars borrowed from the unforgiving federal government at 7% interest.
This isn’t to say life governed by the list is perfect or is for everyone. Each accomplishment also brought a momentary feeling of mild self-rage for not making the goal more difficult, despite the fact the goal was just a step below what I thought was impossible at the time of writing it. My internal judgment screams WHY DIDN’T YOU AIM HGIHER!?!?!? when I accomplish a goal now. The list of life goals also hasn’t made me happier either, as my level of happiness has fluctuated wildly during my time of keeping the list of life goals (from as high as 8.5-out-of-10 in high school, to as low as a 3-out-of-10 during my first job after college graduation). As I have alluded to earlier, it has also slightly alienated me; I had a harder time relating to others who felt adrift, while I was laser-focused. I had also earned the reputation for being robotic, too serious and a try-hard (though those last two judgments say more about the person using them than they ever did about me). A lot of people value being diversified, and this narrow borderline one-track-mind thinking isn’t going to be for everyone (and that’s okay).
The life goals list has of course evolved over time. Old goals fallen to the wayside after being accomplished and new-more difficult-ones being erected to take their place. There have been some consistent, long-term ones, though it has been a useful proxy for tracking my personal growth over the years. It has served as a great proxy for what I valued at the time. I mentioned in the last paragraph that the list hasn’t made me happier. However, I couldn’t envision my life without the list of life goals. Frankly, it’s all I know, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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