Why I Stopped Setting Goals and Started Building Systems
Goals kept me in a perpetual state of 'not there yet.' Shifting to systems changed not just my productivity, but how I experience my work every day.
For most of my adult life, I was a goal-setter. New Year's resolutions. Quarterly objectives. Five-year plans. I had spreadsheets tracking targets for everything from fitness to finances to career milestones. I thought this was what ambitious people did. And on paper, it worked—I hit many of those goals.
But something felt off. Even when I achieved what I'd set out to do, the satisfaction was strangely brief. A day or two of feeling accomplished, and then... what? Set the next goal. Start climbing again. The finish line kept moving, and I spent most of my time in the uncomfortable space between "where I am" and "where I want to be."
It took me years to realize that goals themselves might be the problem—or at least, that there's a fundamentally different way to think about progress.
#The Perpetual State of Failure
Here's what I eventually noticed about goal-oriented thinking: until you reach your goal, you're technically failing. You want to lose 10 kilograms? Every day until you hit that number, you haven't succeeded. You want to ship a product by June? Every week before launch is a week of not being done.
This sounds dramatic, but I think it captures something real about how goals shape our psychology. When I was deep in goal-setting mode, my default emotional state was dissatisfaction. I was always chasing something I didn't yet have. Even celebrating small wins felt hollow because I knew the "real" target was still ahead.
The research backs this up. There was a study I came across—students were divided into two groups. One group was told to focus on a goal: "Get an A in this class." The other was told to focus on a process: "Study for two hours every day using active recall techniques." The process-focused students didn't just perform better academically; they reported less stress and more enjoyment in their studying.
The goal-focused students, meanwhile, experienced what the researchers called "continuous evaluation anxiety." They were constantly measuring themselves against an outcome they hadn't yet achieved. Sound familiar?
#What Systems Actually Mean
When I talk about systems, I don't mean complicated productivity frameworks or elaborate habit-tracking apps. A system is simply a repeatable process that moves you in a direction you care about—without requiring you to constantly evaluate whether you've "arrived."
Instead of "I want to write a book," a system might be: "I write 500 words every morning before checking email." Instead of "I want to get fit," a system might be: "I do some form of exercise every day, even if it's just a 20-minute walk."
The difference is subtle but profound. With a goal, your focus is on an outcome that exists in the future. With a system, your focus is on what you're doing right now. And here's the thing: if your system is well-designed, the outcomes tend to take care of themselves.
I didn't fully appreciate this until I started experimenting with shorter planning cycles. Instead of annual goals, I began working in roughly twelve-week blocks—long enough to accomplish something meaningful, short enough to maintain urgency and adjust course. Within each block, I focused less on "what do I want to achieve?" and more on "what daily and weekly practices will I commit to?"
This shift in framing changed everything. I stopped waking up thinking about how far I still had to go and started focusing on whether I was doing what I said I'd do today. The constant background hum of "not there yet" began to quiet.
#Why Goals Still Feel So Appealing
If systems are so much better, why does everyone keep talking about goals? I think there are a few reasons.
First, goals are easy to communicate. "I want to run a marathon" is concrete and impressive. "I run four times a week" sounds... less exciting. Goals make for better stories, better LinkedIn posts, better answers to "what are you working on?"
Second, goals create a sense of direction. Without some notion of where you're heading, it's hard to know which systems to build. I'm not arguing against having a vision of what you want—I'm arguing against using that vision as your primary source of motivation day-to-day.
Third, and maybe most importantly, goals offer the promise of arrival. There's something deeply appealing about the idea that one day you'll finally be "done," that you'll reach a state where you can relax and enjoy what you've built. Systems don't offer that. Systems imply that the work continues indefinitely—which, if we're honest, is closer to the truth.
#The Emotional Shift
The biggest change I noticed after adopting systems wasn't in my productivity—it was in how I felt about my work.
When I was goal-focused, I often felt like I was fighting against time. Every day that passed without measurable progress toward my goal felt like a small defeat. I'd get anxious on Sunday evenings, mentally calculating how much I still had to accomplish in the coming week.
With systems, the relationship to time changed. If my system is "write every morning," then every morning I write is a success. The goal is already achieved the moment I sit down. I'm not waiting for some future state to feel good about what I'm doing—I'm doing it right now, and that's enough.
This doesn't mean I became passive or lost ambition. If anything, I've accomplished more since making this shift. But the accomplishments feel different. They're byproducts of doing the work, not the reason for doing it.
#Building Systems That Work
Not all systems are equally useful. I've learned a few things about what makes a system actually stick.
Make it specific and actionable. "Exercise more" isn't a system—it's a vague intention. "Go to the gym every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7am" is a system. The more specific, the less willpower required to execute.
Make it about input, not output. I can control whether I write for an hour. I can't fully control whether what I write is good. Systems should focus on what's within your control.
Make it sustainable. The best system is one you can maintain indefinitely without burnout. I'd rather write 300 words every day for a year than 2000 words a day for two weeks before collapsing.
Make it measurable, but don't obsess over the metrics. I track whether I did my system—yes or no, binary. I don't track how productive the session felt or whether I'm "on pace" for some imaginary finish line.
#When Goals Still Make Sense
I don't want to be dogmatic about this. There are situations where goal-setting genuinely helps.
Deadlines imposed by external forces—a product launch, a conference talk, a client commitment—benefit from goal-like thinking. When the finish line isn't something you invented but something the world requires of you, it makes sense to work backward from it.
Short-term sprints can also use goals effectively. If I'm trying to ship a feature this week, having a clear target helps me prioritize. The problem isn't goals in isolation—it's using goals as your primary mental framework for how you approach work and life.
What I've landed on is a kind of hierarchy: a long-term direction (what I care about and want to move toward), medium-term goals when externally necessary (deadlines, commitments), and day-to-day systems that I execute regardless of whether I feel motivated.
#The Identity Shift
Perhaps the deepest change in moving from goals to systems is how you think about yourself.
With goals, your identity is tied to outcomes. "I'm someone who wants to be fit" (but isn't yet). "I'm someone who's building a successful product" (but hasn't arrived). Your sense of self is always provisional, always waiting for external validation.
With systems, your identity is tied to behavior. "I'm someone who exercises daily." "I'm someone who writes every morning." These aren't aspirations—they're descriptions of what you actually do. The gap between who you are and who you want to be shrinks, because you're already doing the things that define the person you want to become.
This might sound like semantic trickery, but I've found it genuinely changes how I show up. When I identify as "someone who writes," skipping a writing session feels like a violation of who I am, not just a missed target. The motivation becomes intrinsic rather than dependent on some future reward.
#A Quieter Way to Work
I still have ambitions. I still want to build things, learn things, become better at my craft. But the frantic quality that used to accompany those desires has softened.
These days, I think less about where I'll be in five years and more about whether I did what I said I'd do today. I've stopped treating every day as a step toward some future success and started treating it as an opportunity to practice being the person I want to be.
The goals I used to set often felt like a way of postponing satisfaction—telling myself I'd be happy once I achieved X or Y. Systems, by contrast, allow me to find satisfaction in the process itself. Not because the process is always fun (it often isn't), but because the process is where life actually happens.
If you're exhausted by the endless cycle of setting goals, achieving them, and immediately setting new ones, consider this: maybe the problem isn't your goals. Maybe it's the whole framework.
What would it look like to stop chasing and start practicing instead?