I played golf last week with a guy who works in the corporate world. He’s got a degree in math and an MBA, but he also has a newborn son at home and wants to find a way to spend more time with his family. He’s fed up with the corporate culture and has done well enough to make a career change without worrying about finances for a while.
Teaching, he has decided, is the way to go.
Once he discovered that I was a teacher, he immediately began asking question after question about the profession, including the fastest way to earn a teaching certificate. I explained Connecticut’s ARC program to him, a three-month process by which college graduates can become teachers in specific areas of need throughout the state, including math. “You could start the program in June and be teaching in September,” I said. “One of my best friends did exactly that. He left the corporate world in June and was teaching math in Hartford in September. That was 17 years ago, and he’s still teaching today.”
The man was enthusiastic about the process and asked a dozen follow-up questions as we walked the course together. With each step, his enthusiasm seemed to increase.
As we made our final putts of the afternoon, he thanked me for the information and said, “That program sounds great. It’s still a little pie in the sky for me, but I think it’ll make it part of my five-year plan.”
Five-year plan?
Really?
1,825 days to achieve a goal?
I don’t understand people who talk about five-year plans.
Five years ago, I had yet to begin consulting in corporate America, nor had I ever foreseen doing so or dreamed of doing so. My consulting business consisted of a few local companies and little more.
All meetings were done in person.
Today, I spend hours every week meeting with clients from Fortune 100 companies both in person and on Zoom. I work with companies like Amazon, Microsoft, Salesforce, Smuckers, and more. I consult with the FBI, Olympic gold medalists, and world-class mountaineers. I work with magicians, comedians, musicians, attorneys, and the clergy. I work with universities like Yale, Harvard, the University of Connecticut, and MIT.
None of that was on my horizon five years ago.
Five years ago, I had not published a book of nonfiction. I had not published Storyworthy, which has become one of my most successful books and opened the doors to corporate America for me. I had not published Someday Is Today, which has led to me consulting on productivity with scores of people in the public and private sectors. I had not published Twenty-one Truths About Love, a book written entirely in lists that my editor and I thought ridiculous.
Five years ago, I had not written and performed a solo show. Had not launched my business, Storyworthy, which records and produces online courses for people worldwide. Had not launched our podcast.
None of these things had even occurred to me back then.
Five years ago, I did not have four of my newest friends. I had not introduced two of my friends to golf. Had not taken an interest in aviation and flown a plane for the first time.
Five years ago, the idea of a global pandemic did not exist.
Five years ago, I was not watching my son play Little League baseball. I wasn’t watching horror movies with a daughter who once feared everything.
None of these things has ever crossed my mind five years ago.
A five-year plan?
How ridiculous.
In today’s ever-changing world, we should explore and expand at every opportunity, making five years impossible to predict.
Instead of a five-year plan, how about a six-month plan? Or a three-month plan? In five years, this guy’s son will be entering kindergarten. He may have more children, planned or otherwise. His company could declare bankruptcy. The United States could be at war with Canada.
Five years is a lot of time. If he’s serious about wanting to change his life, spend more time with his family, and find a way to make a difference in the world, why wait five years? Having an intimate and personal understanding of how short life can be, I wanted to tell this guy to ditch the stupid five-year plan, go home, and sign up for the damn program.
I didn’t. Ultimately, this guy seemed too invested in this five-year plan to deter him with my few nuggets of wisdom, but I am left wondering where he will be in five years.
Will he be the teacher he wants to be?
Will he be spending more time with his family?
Will he have left the corporate culture he despises in his wake?
Who knows?
It’s five years away, for goodness sake! But I can guarantee that none of these things will come to pass this year or the next. That’s the thing about a five-year plan:
It allows you to do nothing for a long time.
