David McElroy

Have you ever made a list of goals for your life? Most of us have. I’ve tended to make such lists when I’ve gotten disgusted with myself. When I feel stuck, I pull out a notepad and make a list.

It’s a good thing to make concrete goals and put them onto paper, isn’t it? Sometimes, yes. But I’ve slowly come to realize something about my elaborate plans and goals.

I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I’ve realized lately that I’ve mostly made those lists as a way to make myself feel better — and as a way to avoid having to take action toward what I wanted.

That’s right. My goal-setting has usually been pure fantasy. Wish lists. I might as well have been asking a genie to grant me three wishes.

I don’t have one of those lists in front of me right now, but I wouldn’t share it with you if I did, because all it would do is show you how ineffective I’ve been at pursuing my goals. I’m really good at complaining. I’m pretty good at talking.

But I haven’t been very effective at doing.

I’ve recently realized that there’s plenty of competition in this world to be heard as a complainer or as a talker — but the field for real “doers” is wide open.

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I miss being arrogant and overconfident.

That sounds odd. I understand that. But it’s hard for others to understand the “superpower” that I lost when I started fixing my worst flaw. It’s impossible for me to explain to you the difference between what I feel like today and what I felt like when that photo was taken.

Imagine feeling total confidence in yourself. Imagine being convinced you were pretty much always right. Imagine knowing you could do anything you wanted to do.

It was a rush of confidence. A feeling of power. A quiet belief in my superiority. And a faith that I would always win. That’s the way I felt back then. It added up to feelings of security and self-worth and certainty.

But then I confronted my dark side. I faced my worst flaws. I confessed what I had done to hurt others. And I changed myself. Not overnight. But I changed.

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Movies and novels celebrate those who refuse to conform — those who refuse to do as they’re told. The non-conformists are often depicted as heroes who beat the system. But in the real world, human society rewards conformists — and non-conformists face ruthless consequences.

I was a conformist when I was young, but only because I was punished for stepping outside a strict set of norms. My father insisted on complete compliance with his orders and values. I occasionally got into trouble for laughing at something he found offensive. And I was strictly held responsible for obeying every order which he believed I should have known to follow, even if he wasn’t there to give the order.

I obeyed my father — and all authority figures — out of fear and training. By the time I was a teen-ager, though, I had developed non-conformist attitudes. I just knew to keep them to myself for the time being.

By the time I got to college, I didn’t fit with either group. I looked very conservative — and I chose the very conservative lifestyle for myself which continues to this day — but I felt like a wild-eyed radical on the inside. I was too conservative for the “free spirits” but I was too rebellious for the conformists.

It’s taken me many years to understand what that lack of conformity would cost me.

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