Second Acts and why setting unreasonable goals is ... reasonable

One question I’m asked during book events and book clubs is “How did you keep going while writing Penitence?” This often comes on the heels of me explaining how much rejection and failure I faced while writing my first (unpublished) novel and trying and failing to write a novel three times before that. The answer? Equal parts persistence, obstinance, and delusion.

(Do you want an explanation for this sign?!?! Read—or scroll—to the end.)

Much like the photo above, my “equal parts” answer to the question of why I kept going is a joke, but it’s important to recognize that we start setting unreasonable goals for ourselves as small children. Think about it—if all you’ve ever done is crawl, why else would one-year-old you look up from that two-foot-tall vantage point and decide to walk and run like those tall creatures around you? And then one-year-old you resolves to keep getting up after falling down—until you succeed. We set goals that may seem unreasonable because we’re hard-wired to aim for things we want. Setting big goals (both reasonable and unreasonable) gives you something to strive for, to make plans about, to dream about. It gives you purpose.

My point? When embarking on any kind of second act, remember (1) aiming high is good for you and (2) when you aim high, you’ll definitely “fall down” in the process of working towards your goal, but the solution isn’t to pretend you aren’t afraid of that—it’s to get back up again when you do fall down.

Much of what we do in life—not just learning how to walk—involves setting big goals. And you know what that’s actually a sign of? Our humanity, because it means we live with hope. (The only other animals that have as much, if not more, hope than humans is dogs. See below!)

Of course, setting an unreasonable goal means you might not reach that goal, but that’s okay. You can learn a lot about yourself just by going through the steps necessary to get to that goal. I shelved my first book because I couldn’t find an agent for it, but the process of writing it taught me that I loved writing so much that even if I couldn’t get that novel published, I wanted to keep writing and stay involved in the writing world. I started writing a second novel and applied to MFA programs in the hopes that I might eventually learn enough to teach. (Life happened and I was unable to attend the program I was admitted to, but that’s a story for another time.)

Another example? I hated running for most of my life. (I hated it so much that I used to skip the running part of lacrosse practice (sorry, Miss Duff!) and sneak back to my dorm to eat Ben & Jerry’s ice cream instead) But after setting a personal goal to run my first half-marathon at age 52, the training taught me to not just like running, but to love it. Now I run races not just to finish but with personal time goals, something I never thought I could (or would) do. And I might enjoy the training—the process of working towards my goal—more than the racing.

One thing that’s great about a big unreasonable goal? A big goal doesn’t have to be about a big thing. Obviously, trying to become a writer half-way thought my life was a “big thing”, but I also have big goals about smaller things. Playing the piano, for example. For context, I can only play Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater (with my index fingers!) on the piano. And yet—I really want to learn how to play the Interstellar theme. Probability of success? Low, but I’m going to watch some YouTube instructional videos and at least TRY.

Finally, since our propensity to set big, unreasonable goals is simply a version of that most human of virtues—HOPE—I can’t not point out the one other species that ALWAYS has hope.

Dogs. Dogs are beacons of hope.

Several times a day, Juno (my ancient great dane) stands next to my desk and asks for a walk or a hug. Or when I’m cooking, she rests her head on the counter (just the right height for her head rest), and I can see the wheels of hope turning: maybe Mom will drop a piece of cheese or beef (yay!) and not a piece of spinach (ugh). At night, she uses her big brown eyes to ask for a spot on the couch (she’s not allowed, so I sit on the carpet and rub her belly instead). Her whole day is spent hoping for the things she loves, some reasonable, some unreasonable (I can’t walk her six times a day and she’s not supposed to have unlimited pieces of beef). Sometimes she gets disappointed, but that doesn’t deter her. The next morning, she has hope again. She’s my hero, always full of hope, even when she hasn’t yet gotten what she wanted.

So I guess the message for the day is that if you’re interested in a second act—whether that means a new career, a new sport or hobby, or something else entirely—set an unreasonable goal for yourself. You might succeed. You might not. But be like Juno. Hope.

After wrapping up some east coast book events with the amazing Kerry Nichols (one of her golden retrievers is about to deliver puppies, so give her a follow on Instagram if you want to watch them grow) and book festivals in Wyoming, Colorado, and Tennessee, I only have one more book event this fall — 11/13 at Elliott Bay Bookstore in Seattle at 7:00pm (I’d love to see you there if you’re in the area!). So what have I been doing with my newly discovered free time?

READING: I just started Flashlight by Susan Choi. I just finished How to Read a Book by Monica Wood (about forgiveness, second chances, and found family, NYT review here) and that is definitely in my top three for the year. Absolutely loved it.

WATCHING: I recently spent a week on the couch, sick with something awful, and watched all three seasons of Sweet Tooth. It was pretty cute. Also inhaled the third season of The Diplomat and was sad to see we have to wait until January 2027 for the fourth season…

And finally, an explanation for that sign:

WHY I LIVE AND DIE BY RANDOM ADVENTURES, PART TWO: Last weekend, even though I didn’t feel great, I really needed to get outside, so JP and I drove out to the Uintas mountains for a hike. On our way there, just outside of Kamas, Utah, we drove by the Beaver Creek Nudist Ranch (which is marked “Closed Due to Mosquitos”). It’s a joke, of course, and it’s been a local joke for three decades (note that the BEAR in the photo is BARE and while Kamas actually is close to a real-life Beaver Creek… well, I’ll stop there), but the sign was almost better than the hike and was the first thing that made me laugh after feeling like sh&! all week.