David McElroy

I wrote over the weekend about the folly of making lists of goals that you’re never willing to actually pursue. The comic strip Pearls Before Swine — which I consider one of the most brilliant and insightful pieces of art today — ran something Monday morning that paired perfectly with that. (See the complete strip here.) Goals are great. Some of our goals are really worth chasing. But we need a sense of priorities — and if we don’t have the love we need, all of our goals are useless, even if we achieve every one of them.

I’m not the same person I was when I was 25. I’m not even the same as I was 15 years ago. And I’m thankful for that.

Every now and then, I meet people who I knew years ago — in college or high school — and I can tell they haven’t changed inside. They’ve coasted through the years getting older — but not getting any wiser, as far as I can tell.

If you’re going to become wiser, it’s typically because you’ve done a lot of work on yourself. For me, therapy with a good psychologist was a catalyst for change. Before that, I’d gone through half a dozen bad therapists, which taught me to appreciate the good one I found. (My experience is that most of them get into it because they’re trying to fix themselves. And that wasn’t helpful for me.)

I’ve realized recently, though, that we rarely seem to learn the lessons we need to learn in time to stop us from stumbling into heartbreak. It seems that only by screwing up in big ways — which we’ll later regret — do we have those epiphanies which give us insight.

I was thinking Sunday afternoon about all the lessons I’ve learned from past relationships — and I realize that I didn’t learn those lessons in time to save myself from heartbreak each time.

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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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