On goals and such

A few days ago, on a plane with more than its fair share of babies and seat-kicking toddlers, we flew over the grandeur of Yosemite's marvelous rock faces brightened by the evening sun. I was reminded of a question I'd been turning over in my mind.  "What's the most difficult goal you ever accomplished?"

When I was first faced with this question, I drew a complete blank, which didn't make any sense. My entire career has been built around the concept of reaching goals, of thriving on challenge and being fiercely dedicated to meeting a target. It brings me pleasure and satisfaction. Surely somewhere in the realm of school and sports and music and work and children and life, I must have achieved something I would easily recognize as a most difficult goal.

But there's something about the label of "goal" that changes the nature of the endeavor -- that moves it out of the realm of something you've done, into an effort with a keen sense of conscious striving behind it.  And that, I realized, was the issue. Goals don't work that way for me.

It's not that I don't think before I start, or face anxiety when things aren't going well, or feel it when I'm striving to overcome a challenge. It's rather that once I set my path, I just go. My effort is placed in making things happen in the moment. And I expend very little mental energy thinking about whether or not I'll reach the ultimate target. 

But thankfully I stumbled upon an answer.  The goal? Learning how to fundraise on the air. Again, at first glance, this doesn't make sense either. A) Because fundraising is what I do. B) This is hardly a grand, life-altering event. C) It feels a tiny bit lame, because in reality, this is technically something a child could do.

But here's the difference: Fear. I wanted to do it, but I didn't believe I could do it. I was terrified to try. I had no idea where to start. And if I failed, it would be big, in front of thousands of people, plus my closest friends and colleagues.

I had to truly think about how I was going to learn and who I would trust to teach me. I had to set a plan for how I would to prepare, and ultimately, face my fear. It was an intensely conscious effort that didn't feel natural at all. It scared me to death. And that first time behind the microphone was a terrifying experience. 

But then it changed, and I learned and mastered the skill. And inside the journey of deliberately overcoming a difficult challenge, I found the memorable magic, the things that made the goal worth striving for... the deeper relationships formed with those I chose to trust... the transformation of my view of my own abilities... and the joy that comes from doing something well that you care about.

I've never particularly liked the idea of a bucket list. And I often found myself at a loss to understand how others easily fill up their lists will all manner of remarkable desires. Mine contains just one item -- to climb the back of Half Dome and peer out over the edge, down into the splendor of the Yosemite valley. 

But now I understand. It's not that I don't want to go to France or Denali or Machu Picchu or the Met and experience many other wondrous and spectacular things. It's that there's only one ambition that claims that special bucket list-deserving hold over my mind.  There's only one thing that feels like a goal because it combines the possibility of thrill with the reality of just enough uncertainty and fear to make it irresistible.

I wonder what would happen if I thought about goals more often.  Whether I'd just get scared and stop. Or whether I'd find even more things to capture my imagination and create experiences that only come from knowing you're putting yourself on the line. Of course, I'm going to give it a try.