In the ’90s, goals were a big deal. It was the buzz-word in education and business and sport. Set a goal. Make it achievable. Make it clear and specific. Then go for it. It seemed you couldn’t so much as order a burrito without having some medium-long-term goal attached.

I got into it because I was studying a lot. Short term goal: Do a 3u maths practice paper. Medium term goal: Get XYZ marks. Long term goal: [world domination]. Easy.

But then school ended and, suddenly, I didn’t give a damn about [world domination]. As you can see, that’s a place-holder. I don’t know what I thought my long-term goal was. Maybe that’s the problem. All I know is, everything suddenly shifted. The century turned and I looked up from my desk and asked “What else is there?”

Then I got smacked in the face with an [anvil]. That’s a place-holder too. Sort of.

Suffice it to say, I’d missed quite a bit while my head was down looking at binomial theorem and international relations between the wars. It was like arriving on another planet. And whatever it was that I thought I could be or achieve was irrelevant.

So much of life is beyond your control. What if your goal depends heavily on the whims, passions, and powers of other people? Are you meant to just ask the universe to make everything align in your favour? And if it doesn’t, is it just that you didn’t ask nicely enough? What if none of these external factors go your way? Does that make you a failure?

I stopped believing in goals. Maybe I never did. For starters, I never understood what ‘achievable’ meant. Achievable for you, specifically? How do you know what that is – especially before the fact?

I don’t believe in lofty goals. I believe in deadlines. I need a given date, a given time and a particular purpose or pay-off. Some say this is how goals should work too, but how often is that the case? Why set the date at August 16th when September 25th wouldn’t make a jot of difference? Why make your word count 50,000 when it could be 49,847 or 68,125?

I’ve never been very good at narrowing life – or even my attention span – down to one thing. Saying yes to one thing means saying no to another. I have immense admiration for people who can set their sights on one sole, spectacular goal, and pursue it relentlessly their whole lives. Olympians, for example. Or ballet dancers. Or worker bees.

But in my experience, not setting goals makes me a happier, and certainly a more sane, person. If I’m not always striving for something, I’m not always falling short of something. Give me a lofty goal and I’ll probably fail. Give me 16 bars to learn by 5pm and it’ll be done. Tasks with deadlines.

Satisfaction to me doesn’t necessarily mean being or having anything in particular. Rather, it comes from completely enjoying each good thing that comes your way. Knowing you did a good job with the task at hand. Being present. Soaking every good moment in completely, and not expecting or demanding anything more of it than it is prepared to give. And letting it go when it’s time, to only occasionally look back with a contented nod that you did all you could and all you wanted. Being grateful.

And yet, I’m haunted by the notion that if you don’t see yourself anywhere in particular in five years’ time, that’s exactly where you’ll be.