I LIKE TO think about big, messy, complex tasks as algebra equations. There are a whole slew of variables that I need to figure out to solve the problem. When it comes to how we set goals and plan for life or work, we tend to use our shoulds and supposed-tos as constants—values that can make the more challenging variables easier to solve for. But when shoulds and supposed-tos are constants, we conform to those factors rather than listen to our own needs or desires. As we do, we limit the ways we can solve the problem.

What happens if we use our own needs and desires as constants? What if our personal visions can help us determine the value of the variables that are most important to us? What if we decide the only way to solve the problem is to keep the commitments we've made to ourselves? Solving your personal equation this way is challenging. There are far fewer examples to learn from. And things might get even messier or more complex before the way forward comes into focus.

I have to admit that I really despise writing conclusions. I think it's because the nature of what I'm curious about will always lead to more questions than it answers, more trails of thought to meander down. I know I should write something here that wraps this all up with a bow and provides you with an inspirational send-off to go live your best life. But I don't actually believe in that as a writer or thinker. I want things to stay a little open-ended, the same way that the process I've shared leaves things a little open-ended. I welcome the mess of variables in this equation because, to me, those variables represent possibility, potential, opportunity.

From the beginning, my intention has been that, whether or not you take up the particular process I describe, you'll have new tools (and a new appreciation for) questioning your assumptions. That any “that's just the way things are” thinking becomes a Pavlovian trigger for examining what's really going on. That instead of seeking clear instructions where there are none, you experiment and systematically discover what works for you in a world that's trying to convince you that it knows better.

So What Works?

What works when it comes to our goals, plans, and visions? If you've made it this far, you know that what works is to resist shoulds and supposed-tos thrust on us by systems that weren't built with our success or the success of our communities in mind. Those shoulds and supposed-tos are the evidence of all the conditioning we're subjected to through marketing, education, political systems, and work cultures. While doing the research for this project, I came across this line from Kierkegaard's The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air (Chapter 9): “So learn, then, from the lily and the bird, learn this, the dexterity of the unconditioned.”⁹⁵ I've had a sticky note with “dexterity of the unconditioned” on my iMac ever since I read that. I'm not sure if this is exactly what Kierkegaard had in mind. But what these words mean to me is that, when I shed my shoulds and supposed-tos, I realize the agility and skillfulness I can bring to any project I truly care about. I have so much to gain when I recognize my own drive beneath all the conditioning. Growth—personal and professional—is more about how I become more of myself rather than how I climb the ladder.

The thought I'd like to leave you with is this: Embrace rigor instead of rigidity. Conditioning, in all its forms, tries to squeeze us into a rigid idea of success, belonging, and productivity. The more social, economic, and political conditioning influences our goals and behavior, the better our social, economic, and political systems seem to work. But it's an illusion. Rigidity will never give us enough space to stretch out and explore our humanity. Rigor, on the other hand, requires dexterity. Rigor requires finesse. Rigor requires practice. To approach personal and professional growth with rigor is to approach it with curiosity. Rigor inspires us to unusual—and sometimes uncomfortable—questions. A rigorous life is one full of learning, delight, and openness.

I wish you the best in questioning your assumptions about what's necessary or possible and finding what works for you.