I once got so fired up about buying a Toyota Supra that I doubled my workload almost overnight.
I’d been enamored with the car since I first laid eyes on it, and eventually I decided: Fuck it. I’m going to make it happen.
I started hustling like a madman and was averaging somewhere between $350 and $500 a day. The finish line was in sight. A few more months and I could’ve paid cash.
Then something strange happened.
I completely lost interest.
The motivation disappeared, I went back to my normal workload, and I never bought the Supra.
Most people would probably say I failed at my goal. Looking back, I think something much more interesting happened:
The goal stopped being right for me before I reached it.
Fortunately, some part of me figured that out before the rest of me did.
Goals Are Built on Assumptions
Here’s my problem with goals: they require you to make predictions about a future you haven’t lived yet.
When you say, I will accomplish X by Y date, you’re assuming your circumstances won’t change, you won’t change, and the person you become six months, two years, or five years from now will still want whatever the person you are today decided was important.
That’s a hell of an assumption.
I rarely succeed when I set rigid goals. Sometimes that’s because losing motivation is laziness or fear, and I need to tell my feelings to shut the fuck up and keep working.
But sometimes losing motivation is information.
Sometimes you’ve simply stopped wanting the thing you told yourself you were supposed to want.
That’s what happened with the Supra.
Why I Really Wanted the Car
Once I examined why I wanted the Supra, the answer wasn’t particularly flattering:
Ego.
I enjoy cars, but I’m not a hardcore car enthusiast. I wanted the shiny toy. I wanted people to see me driving it. I wanted to use it to attract women I probably wouldn’t even be compatible with.
Basically, I was being a monkey trying to impress the other monkeys with the shiniest toy.
Actually owning the thing would’ve introduced a bunch of shit into my life I didn’t want: expensive insurance, maintenance, and probably a new apartment because I was living in Mexico City without indoor parking.
Then there was worrying about reckless drivers, theft, vandalism, or somebody stripping parts off it. I’ve personally watched guys pull up on motorcycles and rip parts off a car in seconds.
Did I really want to spend a bunch of money introducing those worries into my life?
Not particularly.
But the biggest problem was how I was earning the money to buy it.
I was trading my time for money doing work that had very little to do with what I actually wanted to build.
Was I making good money? Absolutely. $350+ a day would change a lot of people’s lives, and I was grateful for it.
But I’ve learned something about myself:
Money doesn’t motivate me enough to sacrifice large chunks of my life acquiring it.
I like money. I want more of it. I want nicer things.
But money can be printed.
Time can’t.
And the older I get, the faster that shit seems to move.
So there I was, spending twice as much of my limited time doing work I didn’t particularly enjoy so I could buy something I mostly wanted because my ego told me it would make me look successful.
My conscious mind created the goal.
Eventually, something deeper inside me said, To hell with your goal, and took the wheel.
Systems Make More Sense to Me
A goal says:
This is exactly where I need to end up.
A system says:
This is how I’m going to live today.
That difference matters to me.
You might decide today that you need the car, house, job, woman, or income number. Then six months later, you’re different. Life is different. You’ve learned things. Your priorities have changed.
But the goal is still sitting there demanding that you keep chasing something because an earlier version of you wrote it down.
Fuck that.
I’d rather build a system that consistently makes me stronger, smarter, healthier, freer, and more capable—and leave some room for life to surprise me.
My current system is pretty simple: write every day, train every day, eat one meal a day, tan once a week, get a haircut every two weeks, read books related to my field instead of watching TV, don’t flirt with women I can’t see myself marrying, keep non-Uncle Blayde Inc. expenses as low as reasonably possible, and avoid wasting energy on things that interfere with my ability to do great work.
That’s my system.
I’m not telling you to copy it. Maybe you should eat three times a day, never tan, grow your hair down to your ass, and get married tomorrow.
The point is to consciously build your own.
Know Thyself
The older I get, the more useful those two words become:
I know I want as few unnecessary obligations as possible. I want control over my time. I want to build things that matter to me. I want enough money to live well without sacrificing my life acquiring shit I don’t actually care about.
And I want the freedom to change direction when my gut tells me I’m heading somewhere I don’t belong.
That doesn’t mean following every emotion. If I did that, I’d accomplish nothing.
Sometimes the schedule says work and you need to fucking work.
But discipline without awareness can turn you into a robot—so committed to following the plan that you stop asking whether the plan still makes sense.
Structure keeps me moving. Instinct lets me change direction. I need both.
My Universe-Pleasing System
Since I started living this way, something interesting has happened: good things seem to show up without me chasing them quite so aggressively.
Opportunities. People. Ideas. Money. Experiences.
Call it luck, intuition, cause and effect, the universe—I don’t pretend to know exactly what’s happening behind the curtain.
I just know that when I consistently do the things that make me healthier, sharper, more useful, more disciplined, and better at my craft, life tends to go better.
So I jokingly think of it as my universe-pleasing system:
Do what I know is right. Keep improving. Protect my time. Build the business. Take care of my body. Pay attention.
And when my gut gives me a damn good reason to change direction, I listen.
I’d Rather Build Myself Than Chase a Finish Line
I’m not telling you goals don’t work. They clearly work for plenty of people.
I’m telling you they often don’t work for me, and knowing that about myself is more useful than pretending otherwise because some productivity book told me I need a five-year plan.
Goals can become outdated.
A good system keeps improving you even when the destination changes.
I still want things. More money. A bigger business. More freedom. Maybe even a beautiful car someday.
But I’m less interested in telling life exactly how and when those things need to arrive.
I’d rather focus on becoming the kind of man capable of handling whatever does.
Write. Train. Learn. Build. Protect my time. Pay attention. Repeat.
I don’t need the universe to show me the whole map.
I just need to make sure I’m not walking in the wrong direction.
Your man,
Uncle Blayde