Setting goals is like space-time.

You want to get to Proxima Centauri, the nearest star to the Sun. You first get to the Moon, then to Mars, then to the Oort Cloud, and before you know it, you're hurtling out of the solar system faster than you could have expected. You're sharpening your skills, and as you do so, the distances begin to shrink. Proxima Centauri doesn't seem so far, nor that hard to get to. You go faster and faster, with better engines and a better crew getting you ever so closer to your destination. And when you get close? You set course for somewhere farther because getting where you got wasn't that hard anyway. You stretch into the infinite expanse of the universe, wanting to go further than those before you, faster than those around you.

And when you look back at Earth? Everything has changed. The faster you changed, the faster Earth changed. The people aren't the same, nor are your favorite parks or coffee shops. For a moment, you feel alone, remembering when you first fell in love with Washington Park or had your first latte from that place right off main street. You know the memories are real, but they're so foreign you might as well have dreamt it all.

You snap back to your spaceship and look around at the control room. Looking back at you is your navigator, your power systems controller, and maybe even a beloved pet. These people chose to accompany you on your mission, go your speed, and sacrifice the same comfort and familiarities for the pursuit of something greater. Maybe it was knowledge, a call to serve, or something else.

Leaning into yourself and finding your call to action is the only way to find your people—and sometimes it's really hard. Sometimes, you catch up to people and relate, for a moment, before you're alone again. Sometimes people give you a speed boost, only to slow down themselves. Or even worse, sometimes your engines run out, and you have to reset.

If I could give someone lost right now a singular piece of advice, it would be this: Set a goal. Obsess over your goal. Trick yourself into believing that your goal is life or death. Make or break. This will do five key things for you:

  1. Your attention will significantly improve. You will only notice things related to your goal, and suddenly the anxious wandering mind will disappear.
  2. You will learn new skills. Your obsession will force you to talk to people, research things, and give up unnecessary behaviors.
  3. You will make friends with the same goal, and a support structure will materialize.
  4. Others will be impressed by your want. Having places to be and things to do attracts people. You will become magnetic.
  5. You will likely achieve something worth feeling good about. You might achieve your goal, and if so, great. Or, you might realize you didn't want it so bad anyway. Either way, you've learned something about yourself which is worthwhile.

Always set a new goal.

While my childish analogy is entertaining, it leaves out a crucial part of the equation: slowing down. Stopping to smell the roses, carpe diem, letting your hair down, whatever you want to call it. What is the journey if not a series of destinations, each with its own unique qualities? My advice? Know that each moment with friends, a meal at Grandma's, or coffee on Main St may not be your last, but one day it will be. You most likely won't know; thus, deep and abiding presence is the only key to speed and presence. There is more joy to feel if you let there be.