I never regret taking time out of my day to write. Still, most days, I have to convince myself to do it. I don’t know exactly why I feel this way. Maybe it’s that writing is difficult. Or that I’m not sure what I might unearth while writing. Or that I fear I’ll fail in some way. But how can I fail at putting words down? All I have to do is write them—a pretty simple formula. The only way to “fail” is to not try. Yet it’s still so difficult to write most days. 

This predicament makes me think about ends versus means. Ends are achievements in themselves, whereas means are the steps taken toward that goal. If my goal—my end—is simply to write, then I’ve accomplished it when I’ve written. However, deep down, I view writing as a means to an end that’s always changing. Maybe I ask myself if this writing can become a post. Or if this could turn into something I could submit for publication. I rarely write for the mere sake of writing, although I often pretend that’s what I’m doing. 

That’s why, when I go to my goal-setting app to mark the day’s writing complete, I somehow feel like I might have cheated. Does writing for thirty minutes count if what I wrote never sees the light of day? The logical answer to that question is yes, it counts—but this is where I encounter my skewed relationship with means and ends. 

I’ve been studying the philosophy of Stoicism for the past year or so. Stoics prioritize means over ends. You can almost always control the means—i.e. the actions you take toward a goal—but there are many things beyond your control that could affect the ultimate end. For example, I could control the fact that I wrote an entire book, but I can’t do much about the fact that it hasn’t been picked up by a publisher yet (except mention it here in case you know someone and have been holding out on me).

I’ve been thinking about how to apply this concept to my goal of leaning more into “being” than “doing.” As a chronic high-achiever, most of my life has been ends-driven. Had I been fueled by means, I wouldn’t have spent so many mornings in the school cafeteria copying friends’ AP Calculus homework purely to get an A in the class.

So, how can I apply this means-vs.-ends revelation to my life generally? Well, perhaps I can try to think less about outcomes and instead focus on the journey. That sounds cliché, but I think it’s key to living a life of contentment. It’s easier to enjoy the present moment if I can celebrate the little wins—instead of delaying gratification until I’ve achieved a long-term goal however many years in the future.

For example, many friends have attempted and quickly bailed on meditation because it feels like a “waste of time.” I understand this sentiment because, in a society that values productivity, those fifteen minutes could have been spent cleaning the house. But who knows? Maybe that pause for solitude could provide the mental reset that makes the rest of the day better. I’m not trying to convince anyone to meditate. I’m just saying that, even if you don’t get the abs the four-week program promised, perhaps the simple act of doing crunches led to a healthier mind, body, and spirit.

I’ve now fulfilled my thirty-minute writing goal. And I guess I’ll put this out into the universe. I suppose I’m glad I wrote this, even if I kept it to myself. Maybe not everything needs to be about ends. In fact, maybe means are ends.