We’re Doing It Mostly Wrong

I think we’re setting our goals wrong.

I think we’re saying “I want to climb Mount Everest” not because we want to do the climbing of Mount Everest, but because we want to afterwards say “I climbed Mount Everest.”

No surprise, though. Our society doesn’t value the journey nearly as much as the destination, despite how many self-help gurus or mindfulness masters tell us that we should believe otherwise.

Sure, it sounds good to say “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey,” but if you examine where we spend our time, where we put our efforts, where we drip our perspiration, where we work until our muscles ache and our fingers bleed and our brains finally shut down from the effort, it’s far more likely to be found in the pursuit at the status-creating or status-affirming external symbol of “success” than at the process you took to get there.

Most of the things we set out as “goals” for our life, whether they be personal, interpersonal, or professional, are set not by what we want to do, but based on what we want to have done.

For quite a while, I’ve had end-goal related writing goals. I wanted to win a prize in the Writers of the Future Contest. I wanted to get a book contract. I desired membership in SFWA.

I wanted the wrong things. I set my yearly or quarterly or weekly goals around those visible end points. The problem is, most of those end points are completely out of my control. Case in point: a couple of years ago I set a pretty hefty goal for my writing: >100 submissions, edit & publish 2 books, draft another, and offer >30 critiques.

All of those are in service to very external judgments of “me as a writer”. They make no consideration at all as to whether or not I would have time and energy to do all of that.

Now, to say that I was overconfident in my capacity would be an extreme understatement. I could probably tick off everything on the list if I had absolutely nothing else to do. But I have a day job and children to raise, and a house to take care of and no supportive spouse. (That’s the #1 ingredient to being a “successful writer”, according to one such person who spoke at a workshop I attended.) Which means my writing time is rather limited. Plus my writing energy will be just as impacted.

And so compared to those incredibly lofty goals, based on what I wanted to have done (publications) and based on what other people told me would bring success (# of submissions), I failed rather quickly. By the middle of March I was behind, way behind. Being behind also had this psychological effect that it intimidated me from working on those things I could actually do, because I think I had the feeling that if I wasn’t meeting my overall goal, it was a waste.

I never caught up. Sure, you can blame the pandemic, but a greater factor was that the goals were just set completely wrong.

In 2021, I had no goals. I just was kind of floundering, sort of hoping that I would get some stuff done here and there, I guess expecting that my meandering would somehow lead me to some kind of enlightenment.

This year, rather than asking, What do I want to have done at the end of the year? I asked myself, What can I do?

And I’ve allowed that difference to be absolutely transformative in the way I set intermediate goals and execute on them. My goals this year center on writing practice, attending writers’ group meetings, and finishing new stories and essays, rather than books. All of these are much more achievable, because they actually feed each other and reinforce each other.

The result? I’m writing more consistently in writing practice than I have in years. I’m generating new stories more frequently. I’m submitting more often, to more places, and actually enjoying the research to find new markets I didn’t know about before. Basically, I’m winning 2022. I believe I can continue to do so for the next 9 months. And I think it has a lot to do with how I’ve set my goals.

A different example: at my local writers’ group meeting last week, I had the privilege to talk about writing as a practice. I talked about daily writing practice, just letting the words flow, just enjoying the experience, and leaving it inside the notebook at the end, without worrying about making it into some finished product.

Many people kind of nodded with me, sort of like, “Yeah, I see what you’re saying, but I’m not gonna play along.” I know it’s because the vast majority of people who don’t practice, say that they’d rather spend their time creating a thing. Working on a story or a screenplay. They want something tangible at the end of their hour at the desk. I heard many say, “I don’t really want to be doing something that isn’t going to be a story at the end.”

Now, I love me some tangibility, I really do. That’s why I have thirty empty pens in my collection, used up over the past five years, that remind me of what I’ve done. That’s why I have twenty full notebooks that pile up so high I can’t see around them if I stack them all on my desk, each one filled with the ink from those same pens, creating worlds that no one will ever explore. Birthing characters and immediately burying them between the covers. Drawing great and wonderful insights about the universe which could save humanity from itself, but because of where they were spawned will forever be locked away from discovery and application by the greater population.

But those things won’t make me “a writer” in the modern sense, in which I am creating stories which other people pay me for, and I earn my living doing so.

However, that writing practice is immensely valuable. It’s reps in the gym. It’s miles on the trail. It’s the unseen bottom of the iceberg that pushes the visible peak just that little bit above the surface of the ocean.

Most of the time we do whatever it is that we do, not for the thing itself. We do it most often because of the goal – the end point – the pennant we could hang upon the wall that proclaims we are the champions.

Why do I practice? Because that is what makes me a writer. Not if a story is published in Fantasy or Lightspeed. Not if one of my scripts gets picked up by a production studio. Not if two or two thousand people sign up on my Patreon to receive my musings. I am a writer because I write, not because someone else publishes.

In short, I’m achieving my goals. Because they were set the right way. Not by asking, What do other people say would make me a writer? But by realizing, These are the things I can write and the activities I can take with the time and energy I have, and actually doing them.

No, I’m not going to have books published as soon as I wanted. I’m not going to qualify for SFWA as soon as I had planned.

But I’m enjoying this process much, much more. And every week, when I meet with my writing group, I get the opportunity to say that I am still meeting my goals.


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4 Simple Steps to Lose 20 Pounds

Step 1: Lose 1 pound

Step 2: Lose 1 pound

Step 3: Lose 1 pound

Step 4: Lose 17 more pounds.

And it’s a little facetious, I know, to just say it so flippantly. But that, apparently, is how people think. They think it’s easy to lose weight. Just eat less, exercise more, it’ll come off.

Sure, it does. It comes off. But losing 20 pounds, or 50 pounds, or 150 pounds, is not a simple process. It must happen one pound at a time, and it must be consistent progress, and you’ll get bored along the way, and you’ll get injured, and your internal homeostatic systems will conspire against you to stop your own weight loss (because your brain will think it’s headed for lean times so it will actually do whatever it can to avoid starvation, including hoarding more energy and burning less of what’s available), and your friends will tell you “You look great!” when you haven’t really done anything, and because of that you’ll be afraid to admit that you’ve cheated on your diet in the past two days and actually gained a pound, and you know in your head that it’s really just water weight, that pound, it’s not like you actually put 3,600 extra calories within your body from that doughnut, but now you start to wonder whether it really is worth it, I mean, damn, who gives a shit if you’re ten pounds overweight or if your doctor wants you to lose 20, I mean, really, he could stand to lose like 30 himself, what the hell does he know? He’s never been in your shoes with a full-time job and three kids and a shrew of a mother-in-law and no real time to exercise and just happy that the kids aren’t pouring their milk on their heads anymore at dinner time, that’s a victory in itself, no way you even have time to plan going to the gym and just forget about a sex life, goddamn, both of you are so exhausted after the day that just even the thought of trying to get excited is a no-go, I mean, really, who has time to think about all those things and plan meal schedules and hit the gym and track everything like they want you to and report your progress to your accountability partner and remember to encourage them, too?

So you look for the “easy” way. You look for “tips and tricks”. You look for the next 5-step, 4-step, 3-step process that will get you the results you want, without doing the work necessary to get there.

Let’s face it. I’m in this same boat too. I want to BE thinner, I want to HAVE six-pack abs, but I don’t want to GET thinner, I don’t want to BUILD six-pack abs.

I want the secret sauce. I want the magic beans. I want the Ab Roller to actually roll my goddamn abs into place! I don’t really want to work and sweat and measure my food and manage my sleep and say “no” to that doughnut or that sweet, sweet ambrosia of a culinary delicacy called the Five Layer Burrito.

Here’s the real deal: there are no 4 Simple Steps to Lose 20 Pounds. There are 20 steps, and they are simple, but they’re not easy:

  1. Lose 1 pound
  2. Lose 1 pound
  3. Lose 1 pound
  4. Lose 1 pound
  5. Lose 1 pound
  6. Lose 1 pound
  7. Lose 1 pound
  8. Lose 1 pound
  9. Lose 1 pound
  10. Lose 1 pound
  11. Lose 1 pound
  12. Lose 1 pound
  13. Lose 1 pound
  14. Lose 1 pound
  15. Lose 1 pound
  16. Lose 1 pound
  17. Lose 1 pound
  18. Lose 1 pound
  19. Lose 1 pound
  20. Lose 1 pound

Each pound of fat is worth approximately 3,500 calories. So, in order to complete step 1, either: take in and process and metabolize 3,500 fewer calories than your current baseline without changing anything else, or expend an additional 3,500 calories again without changing anything else. How do you burn 3,500 calories? Let’s say a rule of thumb is that you’ll get 100 calories per mile. But remember, we need to do ADDITIONAL miles over and above our baseline. If you’re running 15 miles a week already, you’ll need to add 35 miles to lose 1 pound. That’s 5 miles a day. Ain’t gonna happen.

Alternatively, how do you take in 500 fewer calories without changing anything else? If you’re already taking in 2,500 (not unreasonable), you’ve got to cut out 20% of your food intake. Every day. All week. No cheating. No extra “because I earned it” granola bars. No extra beer “to treat myself”. No extra dressing because “it’s just salad, there’s no calories there”. No mistakes, no slip-ups. No falling off the wagon. No regerts! Do all that –

To lose 1 pound.

And then you have to do that 20 more times. And then you have to hope that your body, this homeostatic system that has adapted over millennia to survive droughts and famine and starvation times, won’t sabotage you by producing less energy, burning less while you sleep, converting your current muscle cells into fat cells and storing more for the apparent lean times ahead, or harvesting more from the foods you do take in.

So, it’s the without changing anything else part that is the toughest. Actually, no, I take it back. It’s not. It’s the repeat 20 times that’s the toughest. Actually, no, I take that back. What’s toughest is to change the mindset, from I want to BE thinner, to I want to GET thinner.

Actually, no, I take back my take back of my take back. What’s toughest is to pretend like I don’t give a shit how I look and it’s all about “how I feel”. Let’s be honest. We all care how we look. We want to be fit. We want to be sexy. A lot of the current mindset of “feel” versus “looks” is pandering to the mindset that isn’t willing to work for something. And it works. I’ve bought into it. I’m more concerned with how I “feel” versus how I “look”.

But it doesn’t make me healthier. It doesn’t make me sexier. It doesn’t make me a better person.

It just makes me able to get through the day.