What Goal Setting Overlooks

So, you’re ambitious. January loves that about you. It shows up with planners, declarations, fresh starts, and the reassuring idea that if you define something clearly enough, it will fall into place. There’s comfort in that structure. It suggests control. It suggests that effort, when managed well, will behave.

For artists, goal setting gets awkward almost immediately. Creative work doesn’t respond well to instructions. “I will do this by this date” sounds decisive and productive, but it rarely reflects how work in the arts actually develops. Progress doesn’t move in straight lines. It reacts. It builds in response to what’s already happening rather than because it was ordered to. That’s why treating goals as direction rather than directives has felt more honest to me. Less I will do this and more this is the direction I want to keep moving. It’s a subtle shift, but it changes everything. It keeps ambition intact without locking it into something brittle. It leaves room for discovery, for redirection, for moments when the work reveals something you couldn’t have planned for. In creative work, flexibility often matters more than certainty.

Working in and around the performing arts has reshaped how I think about progress altogether. I’ve seen how much of it depends on responsiveness rather than sheer output. On noticing when something is gaining traction and when it’s not. On understanding when to stay with an idea a little longer and when to stop pressing it. Progress often comes from adjusting in real time, not from pushing harder, even if those adjustments are harder to measure. That perspective has changed how I set goals. I’m less interested in stacking achievements and more interested in developing discernment. In understanding which choices build on each other over time and which ones simply keep me busy. Not everything that adds experience adds direction, and learning to tell the difference has become more valuable than collecting milestones.

This is where momentum gets complicated. Staying busy can feel productive, especially in creative spaces where activity is rewarded and visibility can masquerade as progress. But motion alone doesn’t always move you forward. I try to notice whether what I’m doing is clarifying my sense of direction or pulling focus away from the work that matters most. Another shift has been rethinking the idea that everything needs to serve an ultimate goal, especially a career one. When your work matters to you, it’s easy to treat every interest like it needs to lead somewhere. But I’ve learned that small hobbies, side curiosities, and things I do purely because I enjoy them don’t dilute my focus. They protect it. They keep me human. They remind me that my value isn’t limited to productivity, and the work feels fuller because of it. There’s still ambition here. I still want to grow, to be challenged, to step into rooms that ask more of me. I want growth that feels intentional, not scattered or frantic.

So when I think about goals now, I’m less focused on milestones and more focused on direction. Am I moving toward the kind of work I want to be doing? Am I making choices that reinforce each other? Am I allowing room for curiosity, play, and interests that don’t need to turn into anything at all? That feels like a smarter way to work. And a more realistic way to stay in this industry without losing the part of yourself that made you want to be here in the first place.