Stop Setting Goals? Here's Another Approach to Getting What You Want

Setting goals. I've always disliked setting goals. I think it has something to do with control, and my unwillingness to follow the mainstream. In many ways I am a contrarian, a person who relishes in taking the opposing view. If I'm told to go right my immediate question is "what if I go left". I have never liked being told what to do, and I know this can be a problem. In the past, when goal-setting has come up, I've always resisted it.

Then a few years ago I read a book "Stop Setting Goals" by Bob Biehl. His approach is to solve problems, not set goals. He says eighty percent of the people around us dislike setting goals, and if given the choice they would stop doing it. He gives us permission to stop goal-setting  and not feel like we are "second class citizens."

One major problem with setting goals is that most people won't do it. They don't believe it works and have been disappointed with their attempts in the past, so just give up. You say "set some goals" and they roll their eyes. "Been there and done that." Then they feel like something is wrong with them, like they are subhuman. If you ask one hundred people to set a goal, eighty of them will ignore you. 

Biehl breaks down the statistics this way, when you ask a team or an individual to set a goal:

• 80% won't do it, have tried it in the past, failed, and won't try it again
• 15% will do it, they love setting goals and like hitting preset targets
• 5% won't care one way or the other, they are opportunity-seekers and rely on instinct and will never set a goal no matter how hard you try to convince them to do so

Many people are problem-solvers, not goal-setters. They like fixing things, solving puzzles, finding solutions. The problem-solving approach for them makes more sense and frees them from the guilt of not being a goal-setter.

Another approach I recently came across about setting goals involves fighting the "culture-scape" that says goals are somehow magical and necessary in order for you to get somewhere. How can we get anything done without setting a goal? That is a "culturally-induced" question, supported by Western consumerism and capitalism. To fight the culture of goal setting we have to change our thinking.

Ask yourself these three questions, to change your mindset when considering goals:

• "What do I want to experience" in my life?
• "How do I have to grow" in order to experience this?
• "What can I give back" to my community and fellow human beings?

Asking these questions will help us focus on the things that are important, crucial to becoming who we want to be. Instead of setting a goal, you ask "what do I want to experience?" This is an "end", not a "means." It is a result you desire, not a step you must take. Instead of saying "I want to lose 50 pounds", you say "I want to be healthy, and live a long and productive life." Then you consider how you can experience this in your life. How must I grow, what must I learn, who must I seek out to help me? And most importantly, you want to help others, too. How can I give back and serve others who also need help? A goal of losing 50 pounds is a "means" to an end. An approach that focuses on the "end", not the "means", is more motivating for some people and allows them to de-emphasize the importance of setting "means-type" goals. 

If I were to take both of these approaches, Biehl's problem-solving approach and the experience-based approach, and mix them up like a tossed salad, how would that help me accomplish things without setting goals? I'm not sure. It's something to consider. 

Creatures of Habit: Like Me, He Likes His Place at the Coffee Shop

I see him almost every day. When I walk into the coffee shop he is sitting alone with book in hand reading some obscure text. Middle Eastern philosophy, intellectual works I can only guess about. I would guess he was a professor, now retired. He often takes notes on a small pad. He has an iPad, too, and surfs a bit online from time to time. Today he is reading "Kant's Critique of Judgement."

I have never talked to him. Some morning I may meet him. But if he is like me, he just wants to be left alone with his books and thoughts. More than likely we will remain strangers. Which is fine.

I see him every day. Today he is reading Kant.

I have seen him some mornings walking to the coffee shop. He is the first one there and sits at the same table. Like me, he is a creature of habit who likes his place. My place at this particular coffee shop is near the door, next to some book shelves with the windows to my back. I can crack open the window when it gets hot and take advantage of the cool breeze that blows northerly toward the coast. I like my spot. When its not available I sit as close to it as I can, then make my move when it's vacated.

This older man, I'm guessing he is at least 70-years-old, is reading some heavy stuff.  "Kant's Critique of Judgement" (also translated as the "Critique of the Power of Judgement") is a 1790 work by Immanuel Kant. It's often referred to as the "third critique," following the "Critique of Pure Reason" and the "Critique of Practical Reason." The first part of Kant's critique of judgement deals with aesthetics, which is important to me since I'm a writer and artist. Kant discusses four possible "reflective judgements": the agreeable, the beautiful, the sublime, and the good. Deep, thoughtful, intellectual. This guy is obviously a lifelong learner. I am going to make a judgement about this man: it's good, even agreeable, to see an elderly man still reading classical philosophical works. What an inspiration!

I'm no longer a young man. I'm not exactly "elderly" yet, but I can see the years going by quicker and some day I'll be a 70-year-old artist and writer sitting in a coffee shop somewhere having a latte. I hope to God I have the ability to still read a book, to stretch my mind.

When the Bullet Hit My Chest I Knew I Was a Goner

I've done some stupid stuff in my life. My friends and family all said I was a daredevil, usually finding a way to add some danger to an otherwise boring life. For example, I once jumped off a roof into the swimming pool. I've always come out fine. Not even a broken bone.

But this latest incident was a killer, literally. It all began when I met Monalisa and fell in love. We both liked doing stupid stuff together. It was a shared nonsense and funny way to express ourselves. So when I mentioned to her that we should open a YouTube account and become famous, she was all for it. Man, if we could get 300,000 followers I'd throw a party and we both would be rolling in the cash! YouTube makes it possible for anyone to become famous and get rich.

We started off by doing dumb stunts. I'd climb a tree, find a weak limb, crawl out on it and then fall on my ass as Monalisa filmed it. Then we would slice together some scenes from our life together and interweave into these dangerous antics. Fame is only a few months away. That's what we thought. Our YouTube channel was our path to making it to the big time. Others have done it. Why not us?

I told Mona we needed to up the ante. Really do something spectacular. I owned a .50-caliber gold Desert Eagle pistol. What kind of stunt could we pull of with a gun, I thought. Then it hit me. Shoot myself.

I found a really thick book at the library, about an inch and half thick, and decided it could work. I placed the book on a chair in the backyard and shot a bullet into it. Sure enough, the bullet penetrated a few inches but failed to go all the way through it. The size of the hole was huge, some pages torn all to hell, but mostly the bullet just came to rest inside.  So my plan was going to work. I told Mona about my idea. She at first thought I was nuts, but when I showed her the book with the bullet hole in it I was able to convince her it would work. Followers on YouTube would go ballistic, I told her. Just think about the views we would get!

Here was my plan. We set up two cameras to record different angles of the stunt. I would hold a book, at least an inch and half thick, up to my chest. Mona would shoot me with my gun, point blank, about a foot away. We record the entire stunt and post it to our YouTube channel. What a laugh we would have. Watch our Follower numbers go through the roof. Man, I am pumped!

So, here I am now, wondering what the hell was I thinking. Everything was working great. The cameras were all set, Mona had the gun. After a couple of false starts (Mona was a little afraid at first), she raised the gun and pointed at me. I tightly held the huge dictionary to my chest, a Merriam-Webster behemoth almost two inches thick. I told Mona, "Do it. It's okay. I've tested it. The bullet will not go through. Trust me." Mona hesitated for moment then smiled. I love her laugh, and knew this was going to be great. I was excited to be sure, but confident. She raised the gun and pointed the barrel at dead center, right at the middle of the thick leather cover of the dictionary. And fired.

They say when you die you don't remember much about the loved ones you leave behind. That would be too sad for dead people. It would be much better if we were immediately transported to some beach, with a beautiful blue sky and bright sun, a real paradise, a place where you were present in the moment, and didn't think about the other place, the place you just left. But I know different. When you die a senseless death, for no reason at all, you are just left alone. Empty. When that bullet hit my chest I knew I was a goner. Now I'm dead and don't know why.

(Pedro Ruiz, 22, died this last Monday evening, when his girlfriend Monalisa Perez, 19, shot him in the chest. The stunt was filmed for their YouTube channel. She was pregnant with their second child.)

Pedro Ruiz III, and Monalisa Perez.

Automatic Writing, Stream of Consciousness, and 500 Words

I've been reading about Ernest Hemingway's early years in Paris before he became a big-shot. Gertrude Stein was a big influence. She encouraged him to try "automatic writing", the writer lets the words flow from the brain like drops of water onto the paper without regard to meaning or sense. Just let the words that enter your head land on the page.

I was reminded of Jack Kerouac. Kerouac had this way of letting a "stream of consciousness" take over and guide his writing. He would write a paragraph that might go on for pages, hundreds of words flowing out of his mind, often making no sense.

I have also played with this idea. It can be a lot of fun. So today, I'm going to write 500 words "automatically" and see if I can tap into a stream of consciousness. The setting for this exercise is a local coffee shop. I have head phones playing instrumental music, mostly from movie soundtracks via Pandora.

Here goes.
______________________________

Music in my head. My fingers typing, making mistakes, using the Delete. Why the hell can’t I type? People reading, drinking coffee, looking bored. A lady with a blue scarf, no, actually they have turned and it’s a kid, huddled together with another kid. Smart phone. Giggling. School is out. The shade just hit me in the shoulder. Warm. Buzzing noise. Breaks letting their air out. Trucks nearby. A Pepsi truck at the red light, turning, followed by a van with some kind of landscape materials. It’s cooler today. Not so hot. Shifting. Eyes. Shadows. Turning pages. The smell of muffins and burnt coffee. Someone needs deodorant. I hope it’s not me I smell. Music coming and going, beats. Movie soundtrack. I think I’m getting tired. Really? More words. Get the damn words down. Itching. My eyes watering. What the hell? Hard to think. Mom. Where is she? Hemingway said to believe in yourself. Yea. No one else will. Hard to think he was once a twenty year old who had doubts but could at least write. He knew he had to promote himself, take care of himself, believe in himself, because no one else would. Not even Hadley. She had her own issues. She looked after Hem, but still no one can care for you better than you. What was it like living in Paris. I want to go. When can I go? Is it safe? Why not? Find the right time of year so the weather doesn't kill you. Maybe stay there a year. Hem stayed there, but traveled too much. He was barely in Paris the first two years. Just traveling. He and I have some things in common. I was also a journalist, learned the newspaper writing craft. I also like to travel. He was also a fake, like me. At times I feel like a fake. Hem was always playing a role. Me, too. Can anyone really be themselves with another person? Not really. We are alone. No one but us. We are it. Shoes. The floor, twinkling with light and shadow from the morning sun. The feet cross over it, disturbing it. Clutter. My mind is cluttered. 500 words. Almost there but I shouldn’t care. Keep going. What is next? Silly. Goofy. Are people looking at me? I hope not. Leave me alone. All I want is to be left alone. Let me work. Don't mess with me. God people are messy. That lady is eating and chomping her food like a horse. Calm down. Coffee smells pink. Red. Yellow. Horns in my ears. Smiling. Laughing. Coughing. Gagging. The smell of toast or maybe eggs. What to do. Lots to do. Fingers. Lady looking for papers. Dressed in green pants, sweats. It’s too hot for sweats. Keep going. What is my brain telling me? Greys. Black. Artwork. I need to draw something, paint. Studio. Need to work. Money. Earn some money. Who needs money? I like money. Who doesn’t. We must have it to live. Done

(502 words)

Breaking Bad

I'm watching all five seasons of "Breaking Bad" on Netflix. I remember now. I loved this show. The quality of the cast and crew is topnotch. Screenwriters can learn a lot by analyzing it's structure. It's a great story. Vince Gilligan is genius.

The main theme of any great story needs to hit home, make sense, relate to us in some emotional way. We have to feel like it's real. "Breaking Bad" certainly qualifies. We all "break  bad" sometimes and get involved in something we shouldn't. We take a false step and before we know it all hell breaks loose. As I was watching the last episode of Season Two last night, I was thinking about how I have "broken bad" a few times myself.

Here are some reasons I think we break bad, often unintentionally.

1. Bad news. When Walt finds out he has cancer and a couple of years to live, he begins to unravel. Who wouldn't? His life is over, and this realization feeds his downward spiral. His motives are complicated, he's concerned for his family's future after his death, and he's broke. We are more likely to break bad after receiving bad news.

2. Bad luck. Luck is a big part of success and failure. Random events can have devastating consequences. A small dose of unforeseen bad luck can go a long way in making us feel vulnerable and defeated. How many times have we said, "I can't catch a break!" Walt and Jesse are not only the worst drug dealers in New Mexico, they are the unluckiest. Some of the fun is watching these two trip over themselves. Bad luck and breaking bad may be close relatives.

3. Bad friends. It's a cliche, but true: hanging around bad people will eventually rub off on us. Parents want their children to have positive role models. Adults need positive role models, too. We need to be careful about the people we allow into our inner circle. Bad people bring bad influences. We usually don't break bad in isolation. Many times we break bad to be a part of the group. Studies in the cause of riots has shown this. People will behave in ways thought impossible, if given the right environment. A good way to avoid breaking bad is to avoid bad people.  Jesse's young and cute landlord, a recovering drug addict, meets Jesse (bad luck), and ends up dead of an overdose.

While I've never sold drugs, I've broken bad at times. The next time I receive bad news, I'm going to think of Walt and Jesse. Just give me some good news. And with a little good luck and a few good friends, I might even break good once in a while.

Ten Years and Counting: This Blog Has Seen It's Ups and Downs

Ten years ago today I began writing this blog. It began as a travel blog, chronicaling my way to Las Vegas in the summer of 2007. My idea was to unload all my belongings and hit the road. I was restless and needed a drastic change.

I was playing a lot of poker in those days, online and at a casino in Oklahoma just across the Red River. My goal was to move to Las Vegas and play poker and get a Nevada real estate license. I had been a broker in Texas for quite some time so why not take my act to Vegas?

As it turned out I lived in Vegas for a while then hit the road again, eventually landing in Carmel, California. Then it was back to Texas before moving for good back to California in the summer of 2012. This blog has always been there, although months would go by in silence. I was not a serious blogger in those days. I would write for while, then let it go for weeks at a time. On and off like a leaky water faucet, my blogging was not very consistent.

Here is an excerpt from my blog, ten years ago today, as I was planning my move to Vegas:

(Saturday, June 23, 2007) 

 Why am I moving? When it came down to it, I realized I could go anywhere and do anything. I have nothing to keep me here in north Texas. I can just pick up and go. So, I decided Las Vegas would be a nice change. I may not be there long. I could be there until the rest of my life. But I'll always be a Texan no matter where I live, so it really doen't matter. I chose Las Vegas for a number of reasons, not to mention: 
1. the opportunity to grow in real estate investing 
2. the weather 
3. the job market 
4. the card rooms
5. the opportunity to experience life in the world's biggest playground, with all of its evil and grace...a great place for a writer. 

 This blog will be my journey to Vegas.


What will the next ten years bring? Anyone's guess. I hope to do a better job writing about it, whatever happens.

I'm at a Starbucks in Albuquerque, NM, the summer of 2007, having left Texas for a road trip to Las Vegas.

Climbing Mountains, Taking Risks

I've been reading an early play by the great Tennessee Williams over the last few weeks. I often take a break from other books I'm reading and indulge myself in a book of Williams' plays. The first play I'm reading is "Spring Storm."


"Spring Storm"is a play written by Williams when he was twenty-six years old. He was studying as an apprentice and was attending the University of Iowa. "Spring Storm" received poor reviews and it did not receive its first production until 1995 in Berkeley, California. 

In the first act, the curtain rises to reveal a high, windy bluff over the Mississippi River. It is called Lover's Leap. Two old trees whose leafless branches have been grotesquely twisted by the winds are there, along with Heavenly and Dick, two young lovers. They are discussing their future together near the edge of a cliff. Heavenly begins to climb higher up the bluff while Dick urges caution. 

Heavenly's response to Dick is that climbing up the bluff will get her closer to Heaven, where she might even see God. Dick reminds her that people can also fall when climbing, and it might be too dangerous. When climbing up a dangerous cliff you might reach a higher plateau, or you might fall and break your neck.

So when do we take the risk? When do we choose to climb higher up the slippery slope and hope to see God? It takes courage to climb up and see something beautiful. What if we fall? 

The mountain climber Ueli Steck in his native Switzerland in 2015.

Ueli Steck, a famous mountain climber nicknamed "the Swiss Machine", died earlier this year. He was 40 year old. His rapid ascents of some of the world's most imposing peaks made him renowned as one of the world's best climbers. He died in an accident at a camp near Mount Everest on April 30.

Steck was willing to risk his life to climb the highest mountains in the world for his own private reasons. For him, the risk was worth it. Falling was always a possibility. But he climbed. For him the ascent upward was a life and death decision on a daily basis. 

For most of us, taking a risk to achieve something greater is not a life and death decision. It involves risks, no doubt. But our lives are not in danger. Want to write a book? Will you fail? So what? You won't die. Want to go back to school and get a degree? Will it be costly? Will you go in debt? So what? It won't kill you. 

Tennessee Williams set up the play "Spring Storm" in a terrific first act, with risk and danger and darkness on the horizon. Young lovers at odds over their future sets up a dynamic scene. Death, too, is present. What kind of life is it, to take no risk, to play it safe, to not ascend a mountain?