Note to Self: Deadlines are for Dunderheads
All my life, I had an idea of where I needed to be at each stage of life.
Finish high school at 18.
Graduate from college at 21.
Start working at 22.
Get married by 26.
Have a baby by 31.
Have twins by 33.
Become the CEO of a company by 40.
Write a novel by 50.
Retire by 52.
Like most people, I had a pretty standard checklist of things I needed to accomplish in life, and I used my age as a milestone for when I needed to achieve those things by.
Mistake.
I now look back on my teenage self’s list and snort to myself in derision. I consider this sort of checklist social conditioning at its best. Sure, I do want some of these things. But I’ll be damned if I have to put a deadline to them. Or worse, let others judge my success by measuring it against their own timelines.
Will my success be less sweet if I make it to the C-suite by the age of 42 instead of 40? Will babies be less adorable, and welcome, if they arrive after 33?
Will my journey from struggling writer to published author be less fulfilling if I get there before 50?
Interestingly, I was at a gathering of friends earlier this month, and we were all in agreement that deadlines help set targets and goad us into working earnestly towards them. Deadlines are a way of giving ourselves and the Universe a signpost––this is what I want, and roughly this is when I want it by.
But to be a slave to these moments in time, and let yourself be defeated if you haven’t achieved things by the time you said you would?
That’s pure silliness.
If you agree that deadlines do more harm than good, give us a clap, share, comment.