On Setting Goals
On Setting Goals
When you set your goals, set them by asking: What do I want to achieve that will move my life forward significantly?
You’ve probably come across the SMART framework at some point—specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, time-bound. It’s a neat little trick for shaping your goals, turning vague wishes like “get better at writing” into something concrete, like “finish a 50,000-word novel by December 31st that’s good enough to submit to publishers.” It’s a tool I’ve used myself, and it works wonders for clarity. But here’s the question that nags at me, and maybe at you too: how did you decide what goals to plug into that framework in the first place? SMART helps you refine them, but it doesn’t whisper in your ear about what’s worth chasing. That’s where the real wrestle begins.
The standard advice floating around—the kind you might hear from a life coach or read in a self-help book—tells you to slice your life up like a pie. Health, money, family, rest, sport, studies, personal growth—pick your categories, then set a handful of top priorities for each slice. Imagine you go with five pieces, a nice round number, aiming for that holy grail of “balance” everyone loves to preach about. Then, because you’re ambitious, you assign three big goals to each slice. That’s fifteen goals staring you down for the year. Fifteen! Now, pause for a second and think back to last year. Reflect on it honestly. Did you achieve anything truly meaningful—something big, consequential, earth-shattering—with that kind of scattered focus? I can’t speak for you, but for me, that’s a laughable impossibility.
Even if you dial it back—say, one goal per slice, totaling five—does that really get you to the kind of results that shake your world? By “meaningful,” I mean the heavy hitters: “major,” “momentous,” “significant.” The kind of outcomes that leave a mark, that people notice, that you look back on and say, “That was worth it.” Research I’ve dug into backs this up—studies on goal conflict show that when you chase multiple targets, they start tripping over each other. One goal demands time, another demands energy, and soon you’re caught in a tug-of-war that leaves you burned out and nowhere near the finish line. There’s even a term for it in workplace studies: goal overload. Too many objectives, and your motivation tanks, your performance dips, and you’re left with a pile of half-finished dreams.
Now, don’t get me wrong—not every goal has to be a blockbuster. Some are just there to keep the lights on in parts of your life you can’t ignore. A goal like “go to the gym twice a week” isn’t about rewriting your destiny; it’s about not letting your health slide into the gutter. There’s nothing wrong with that—it’s practical, even noble. But if you’re after something huge, something that pushes your life forward in a way that feels seismic, I’d argue you’ve got to zero in on one goal. Just one. Research leans this way too—studies suggest that focusing on a single, challenging objective boosts your odds of nailing it, because you can pour everything you’ve got into it without splitting your attention five ways.
This is where the whole idea of balance starts to unravel like a cheap sweater. Take an elite tennis player—someone like Serena Williams. She’s not also an elite academic, a world-class composer, or a Michelin-starred chef. Could she be? Maybe, in some alternate universe, but in this one, she’s Serena because her one goal was to dominate tennis. Stephen King didn’t become Stephen King by splitting his days between writing novels, training for triathlons, and mastering quantum physics. He wrote. That’s it. The exceptions—those rare polymaths who juggle brilliance across fields—are so few they prove the rule. Research on goal conflict supports this too: when you spread yourself across multiple big goals, you’re fighting a losing battle against your own resources. Time, energy, focus—they’re finite, and the more you divide them, the less you’ve got for any one thing.
Let’s make it personal. Say my goal this year is to crush an MBA. That’s not a small undertaking—it’s a beast of a commitment. I’d have to sit my family down and say, “Look, you’re not going to see much of me for the next twelve months. I’ll be buried in books and case studies.” The gym? I’d tone it down—maybe hit it twice a week instead of five. Running and cycling, my usual escapes? They’d shrink to short jogs or quick spins, just enough to keep my head clear. My priority—my one true goal—is that MBA. Everything else takes a back seat. Does that mean I let my life fall apart? Of course not. I’d still be a husband, a father, a guy who doesn’t want to keel over from neglecting his health. But those other areas aren’t goals in the same way—they’re priorities I maintain, not starring roles in my story.
This distinction matters. Are all your so-called “priorities” really goals? My MBA would be the main event, the one I’m pushing hard on, the one where I’m aiming for a big, consequential win. Staying fit, keeping my marriage strong, reading a stack of books to stay sharp—those matter, but they’re not where I’m swinging for the fences. Research calls this goal compatibility: if your side priorities don’t clash with your main one, you can keep them humming along without derailing the big show. Studies on habit formation—like one I stumbled across about mastering one thing at a time—say this works better than trying to overhaul your whole life at once. Focus on one big change, and your odds of success skyrocket. Split your focus across five? Good luck.
This approach takes the weight off my shoulders. I used to feel this nagging pressure to somehow nail five top priorities in a year—like I had to be a superhero juggling earth-shattering wins in health, career, family, you name it. But here’s the truth, backed by what I’ve read: it’s impossible to achieve five massive, game-changing goals in twelve months. The science agrees—goal overload studies show that piling on objectives just leads to stress and mediocrity. But I can still set five “goals” to give my life direction—one that’s the real deal, the protagonist, and four that guide the supporting cast. The MBA gets the spotlight; the rest play backup.
This brings us to the heart of it: balance is a myth if you’re aiming high. When you bake “achieving balance” into your goal structure, it morphs into its own goal—an extra burden you don’t need. It’s this unattainable ideal that drags you down, whispering that you should be excelling everywhere at once. Forget it. Absolve yourself from that guilt trip. You either shine in one area while the others coast along, or you settle for average across the board. Look at business: you can’t launch an airline that’s both dirt-cheap and dripping with luxury—it’s one or the other. Choices have to be made, trade-offs accepted.
So, when you’re sketching out your goals, ask yourself: What’s the one thing that’ll shove my life forward in a massive, meaningful way? That’s your criteria. Make it personal, make it big. Maybe it’s writing a novel that lands on bestseller lists, or running a marathon that proves something to yourself. Others might scratch their heads—why pour a year into that?—but it’s your life, not theirs. Research hints that some people can juggle multiple goals if they’re clever about it, aligning them so they don’t fight for the same scraps of time and willpower. But that’s the exception, not the rule. For most of us, especially when the stakes are high, one goal trumps a dozen every time.
Here’s how I see it playing out. You pick your one big goal—something that moves you, something consequential. Then you set your other “goals” (I’ll keep calling them that for simplicity) to steer the rest of your life—health, relationships, learning, whatever. But they’re subordinate, there to keep you steady while the main event takes center stage. Take me and that MBA again. I’d grind through coursework and exams, aiming to graduate with honors and a network that opens doors. Meanwhile, I’d still hit the gym a couple times a week—not to become a bodybuilder, but to stay sane. I’d carve out time for my wife and kids—not to win Father of the Year, but to keep us connected. I’d read books—not to become a scholar, but to feed my mind. Those aren’t goals in the blockbuster sense; they’re guardrails, keeping my life from veering off track while I chase the big win.
Contrast that with the balanced approach. If I tried to make everything a top priority—ace the MBA, run a sub-three-hour marathon, write a novel, be the perfect husband, and master French—I’d end up with a mess. Research on multifinality constraints (a fancy term I tripped over) says that chasing multiple goals narrows your options, making each one harder to pull off. You’re stuck with half-measures, mediocre results, and a nagging sense you could’ve done better. I’ve lived that scattered life before, and it’s exhausting. One year, I tried to launch a side business, get ripped, and be the most present dad ever—all at once. Guess what? The business fizzled, I gained five pounds, and my kids still complained I was distracted. Lesson learned.
This isn’t just personal navel-gazing—it applies everywhere. In business, the airlines that win pick a lane: budget or luxury, not both. Brands like Walmart don’t try to be Prada; they know their game and play it hard. Life’s the same. You can’t be an elite everything. The data backs this up too—studies show that when you focus on one tough goal, your performance spikes because you’re not diluting your effort. Sure, some argue you can handle multiple goals with enough planning—prioritize, align, delegate—but even then, the evidence leans toward single-focus for the really big stuff. The rest? It’s maintenance, not mastery.
So here’s my advice, honed by experience and a bit of digging: set your sights on one goal that’ll change your trajectory—something meaningful, something that lights you up. Define “meaningful” your way. For me, maybe it’s that MBA opening career doors I’ve only dreamed of. For you, it might be running that marathon, proving you’ve got grit. Then sketch out your other “goals” to guide the rest—health, family, whatever—but let them bow to the main event. Don’t waste energy chasing balance—it’s a ghost that’ll haunt you into mediocrity. Focus on one thing, nail it, and watch how far it takes you. The rest will fall into place—or at least hold steady—while you claim your big win.
Balance? It’s a myth. And I’m done pretending otherwise.