Goals give direction, but presence gives life meaning. You need both, just not at war with each other.
I’ve spent a lot of life trying to outsmart uncertainty. I wanted a color-coded plan for the next 5, 10, 20 years; a GPS with every turn announced in advance; a destiny spreadsheet, preferably with conditional formatting. When the future didn’t load on command, my brain labeled it “danger,” and—surprise—more pressure.
Traveling made me notice something else: there are a thousand ways to be a person. Sitting in hostels and airports, I caught myself asking, “Who do I want to be?” Then a second question arrived: “Why that person?” The spark behind our goals matters as much as the goals themselves. Is it love or fear? Curiosity or comparison?
When Pressure Becomes The Whole Personality
Some pressure is useful. Psychology even has a name for the sweet spot—the Yerkes–Dodson law—where a little arousal sharpens performance, and too much turns us into buffering wheels. I lived on the wrong side of that curve for years. If I didn’t know the next step, I decided I was failing at life itself. Cue the inner drill sergeant, cue the tight chest.
Here’s the trap: pressure breeds more pressure. We chase the next milestone thinking relief is on the other side, but the goalpost is on a treadmill. The minute we arrive, it slides away.
Goals and the Present: A Both/And Life
I still believe in goals. They give direction, momentum, story. What I’m learning is the balance: hold a vision and stay with what’s here. Think of it like driving with high beams for the long road and low beams for the next bend. Both matter.
Science is friendly here. Intolerance of uncertainty (yes, it’s a real thing) is linked to anxiety and over-control. And self-compassion—treating yourself like someone you love—reduces stress reactivity (thank you, Kristin Neff) and makes change more sustainable. In other words, softness isn’t the opposite of progress; it’s the fuel.
How I Stopped Sprinting After My Life
Not a five-step plan. Just what helped me turn the volume down:
- Becoming still (against every instinct). When I stopped chasing, a backlog of feelings showed up like emails marked “urgent.” Fear, grief, relief, hope. Letting them land was uncomfortable—and weirdly productive.
- Letting the sand settle. Imagine a jar of cloudy water. If you keep shaking it (hello, constant striving), you never get clarity. Set it down, and things separate on their own.
- Checking the spark. If a goal was powered by “prove I’m enough,” I felt it in my body: tight, brittle. If it came from curiosity, there was warmth, a little smile. I followed the warmth.
- Practicing compassion, on purpose. Pressure says “try harder.” Compassion says “try gentler.” Gentler got me further.
Humor helped, too. Apparently, the universe does not accept Gantt charts for personal growth.
The Choice Hiding in Plain Sight
Meeting so many different people on the road showed me something simple: becoming is a choice. Not a single dramatic moment—more like a string of small votes. We vote with the way we talk to ourselves in the morning. We vote with who we text back. We vote with what we do when the plan dissolves.
And yes, stillness is hard. Awareness is hard. Letting old pressure drain away can feel like pulling anchors from wet sand. But empty hands carry better things—joy, focus, actual energy for what matters.
If You’re Tired of Feeling Chased
Maybe try this thought on: You don’t have to outrun uncertainty to live well. You can let goals point you forward while presence holds you steady. You can be ambitious without being at war with yourself. You can want more and be here.
I’m still practicing. On good days, there’s room in my life—the kind that makes creating feel natural again, like how ideas show up in the shower or on a quiet walk. On other days, I accidentally open seventeen tabs in my brain and call it strategy. Both are human. Both belong.
Let the pressure fade, not with a grand gesture, but with a thousand ordinary, compassionate choices. That’s how the quiet room appears inside the pressure cooker.
With care,
Katja – Creator of HOMELESS
