What I Learned About Goal Setting Early in My Career Still Works Today

"When goals live too far in the future, today becomes reactive instead of intentional."

In January 1994, my veterinary practice had just completed its first year. On paper, things looked fine. Revenue was up, the bills were paid, and more clients were finding us through word of mouth. For a young practice owner, that was supposed to feel like success.

It didn't.

I had three employees, two of them part-time. There were no staff meetings, no training programs, and no one asking me about long-term strategy. After closing each night, it was just me in a quiet building, sitting at my desk with a legal pad, realizing something uncomfortable: working hard wasn't the same as moving forward.

The goals I'd written down when I started were big. Build a world-class practice. Grow fast. Make a name in the community. They sounded right, but they lived too far in the future to help me decide what mattered next week, much less what to stop doing tomorrow.

Something was off. That disconnect created a quiet, persistent unease. Years later, I would recognize that feeling for what it was. As Soren Kierkegaard famously observed, anxiety isn't a flaw or a failure. It's often the mind's way of recognizing that change is coming and something new needs direction and action. The question wasn't whether things would change. It was whether I would guide that change or simply react to it.

Why Long-Term Goals Often Fail in Practice

I later learned this wasn't unique to veterinary medicine or early-career ownership. Across roles and industries, the same pattern shows up every January.

Some leaders plan too far ahead, creating ambitious annual goals and long-range visions that sound impressive but don't help when conditions shift midyear. Others plan only for today, reacting to schedules, deadlines, and the next urgent problem. They stay busy, but feel behind before the year even begins.

Neither approach works on its own. What's missing is a planning horizon that's close enough to act on and structured enough to prevent drift.

A Simpler System That Works

That night in 1994, I drew four boxes on a legal pad: three months, six months, one year, and two years. Nothing beyond that.

Every goal-setting framework I'd encountered emphasized one-, three-, or five- to ten-year plans. Those timelines may work in theory, but in the middle of running a growing practice, they felt disconnected from the decisions I needed to make each day.

Those four boxes became a bridge between reality and aspiration. Each window answered a different question: what needs to calm down, what needs to work better, what we want to be known for, and what options we want to preserve.

I wasn't trying to create a perfect plan. I was trying to give my uncertainty and anxiety somewhere useful to go.

The Three-Month Window: Calm the Chaos

I started with the next three months. Twelve weeks. Eighty-four days. I could see that clearly.

I asked myself what needed to be different within three months for things to feel less chaotic. Not perfect, just more controlled. For me, that meant fewer surprises, more consistency, and fewer nights wondering what I'd forgotten.

I focused on what I could influence immediately, particularly client service and adherence to medical protocols. People don't come back because you're ambitious. They come back because they know what to expect. Trust grows when the experience feels dependable, whether you're running a practice or managing a sales territory.

The Six-Month Window: Reduce Friction

Once the near term felt more controlled, I looked six months ahead. This was where I stopped relying on brute force and started paying attention to how work actually flowed.

I looked for repeated breakdowns and asked what "good enough" would look like if things worked the same way every time. How calls were returned. How patients were discharged. How records were completed and reviewed.

Nothing flashy. Just fewer loose ends. Those small improvements reduced friction and made it easier for everyone to do their jobs well.

The One-Year Window: Define Reputation

Once the day-to-day was more predictable, I could think about the year ahead. This wasn't about tasks anymore. It was about identity.

I asked what I wanted people to say about the practice in a year. Not that we were bigger or busier, but that they knew what to expect, felt well cared for, and trusted our decisions. That question became a powerful filter. If something didn't support who we wanted to be, it didn't belong on the priority list.

Plans fail when daily decisions don't match the identity you're aiming for.

The Two-Year Window: Preserve Options

Only then did I look two years out. This wasn't about predictions or promises. It was about options.

Could I create enough stability and confidence to choose what came next rather than being forced into decisions? Could I build a practice culture that could change without panic?

A good two-year view should leave room to adapt as you learn while still asking enough of you to grow.

What Makes Any Plan Work

One truth shows up every January: motivation fades.

Discipline doesn't.

Plans don't succeed because they sound inspiring. They succeed because aligned actions are repeated long after the initial excitement has worn off. A plan is proven on an ordinary Wednesday in March, not on a hopeful morning in January.

What steadied me in 1994 is the same thing that steadies teams today: knowing what matters next and staying focused there before looking further ahead.

The Same Feeling, Reframed

The words I scribbled on my legal pad that quiet January evening didn't solve my problems. It gave me a way of thinking that scaled with my career.

The uncertainty never disappeared. What changed was my relationship with it. Anxiety isn't something to eliminate. It's something to listen to. It often signals that growth is possible.

As 2026 begins, the goal isn't to have everything figured out or to plan further ahead than you can realistically see. It's to create enough clarity to move forward with confidence and enough flexibility to adjust as you learn.

The real question for 2026 isn't how big your goals are. It's how far ahead you're actually looking.

Here's to looking just far enough ahead to make a difference,

Dr. Ernie Ward
Chief Veterinary Officer, VerticalVet

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Quote I’m Contemplating

"Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom."

Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855), a Danish philosopher, theologian, and writer, is widely regarded as the father of existentialism.

Kierkegaard's observation has stayed with me since undergrad philosophy (Thank you, University of Georgia!) because it reframes a feeling most of us try to avoid. Anxiety, in his view, isn't weakness or indecision. It's the moment we realize we have real choices, and that those choices matter.

That's exactly how January 1994 felt for me. I wasn't anxious because the practice was failing. I was anxious because it wasn't. Growth was possible. Change was coming. And for the first time, I understood that direction wasn't something I could wait for. It was something I had to decide.

That same feeling still shows up for me every January. We sense possibility, but we're unsettled by the responsibility that comes with it. The temptation is to push the discomfort away with big, distant goals or constant busyness.

Kierkegaard suggests a different response. Instead of resisting anxiety, we can listen to it. Often, it's simply telling us that it's time to choose what matters next.