I used to hate setting goals for Penny. It felt like I was measuring her worth based on how quickly she achieved something I arbitrarily decided for her. I wanted to get off the treadmill of measuring worth by achievement.
In time, I started to see it differently.
Now I see goal setting—for her and for me—as a statement of belief that our lives have value and purpose, that we are headed somewhere good.
Earlier this week, I sat with Penny, who now attends college, in a PPT (Planning and Placement Team) meeting. This annual meeting includes all the teachers, therapists, and other administrators responsible for implementing Penny’s IEP (Individualized Education Plan). We gather to discuss her progress and goals for the future. This year, Penny took the lead. She articulated her desire to take a writing class and to work on initiating conversations. Other team members remarked on the ways she’s grown this year and the areas where she can keep learning. I mentioned Penny could use some help finding a summer job.
For years, even once I became hopeful about it, this type of planning felt really overwhelming. I still get scared about Penny’s future—will she be able to live outside of our home? Should we petition for guardianship? How much should we push her to get a job?
You Need to Know A, B, and Z
Amidst the swirling questions, I bring myself back to the podcast I’ve mentioned here before in which James Clear and Peter Attia talked about how, when setting goals, all you need to know is “A, B, and Z.” You need to know A, which is to say, you need to know where you are right now. You need to know Z, your ultimate desired destination. Other than that, all you need to know is B, the next step to take. (And then you figure out C, and D, and on down the line, keeping Z in view.)
Penny knows her A, B, and Z. She registered for an English class. We received a form from school about job placement possibilities. For today, that’s what we need.
There are plenty of goals I never come close to achieving, and the same is true for Penny. I still see those goals as statements of hope, as signposts that help us to imagine a good future.
So, what’s your A, your Z, and your B—for yourself, or your child? Where are you? What do you hope for? And what’s the one next step you want to take in that direction?
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