Picture something you wanted badly a year ago. Maybe you got it: the relationship, the money, the opportunity, the change in your body, the freedom to choose your own schedule. How long did it take before something else became important?

Before deciding you chose the wrong goal, ask something more fundamental: Who is this “I” that is never satisfied?

When you say “I,” you are usually referring to much more than the person standing here. Included in that “I” are ideas about who you are, where you should be, what success means, what would make you secure and what your life is supposed to look like. Now notice what happens when a goal gets attached to one of those definitions.

You may want more money because you want to travel, pay your bills easily or have more choices. That is practical. But somewhere along the way it can also become, “When I earn that much, I will know I am successful.” You may want a relationship because you want companionship, but it can quietly become, “When someone chooses me, I will know I am lovable.” You may want to accomplish something because the experience excites you, but it can become, “When I do this, I will finally know that my life matters.”

The goal now has two jobs. One is to change something in your life. The other is to prove something about “me.” An achievement can solve a real problem or change a real circumstance. It cannot permanently answer a question that keeps being asked from the same assumed lack.

That is where the moving finish line begins. You reach the number. You get the opportunity. Someone chooses you. You achieve the thing. For a while, the proof seems to hold. Then another comparison appears, another possibility, another number or another definition of what success should look like. The original question returns and asks for new evidence.

This does not mean you should stop wanting things. Wanting is not the problem. The difference is whether the thing you want has been made responsible for completing a person who is assumed to be incomplete.

So take something you want now and ask, “What do I want this for?” Let the practical answer be exactly what it is. Then ask, “What do I believe having it would prove about me?”

Maybe nothing. Maybe you simply want the experience. But if the answer is, “Then I will know I made it,” “Then I will feel safe,” “Then I will finally be enough,” or “Then people will respect me,” something else has been revealed.

The thing you want is now being asked to provide evidence about the character you call “me.” And if the assumed lack remains, how long can any piece of evidence settle the question?

If that definition of “me” changes, the goal no longer has to carry that weight. Money can be money. Success can be enjoyed. A relationship can be a relationship. You can still want more without requiring the next thing to complete the person who wants it.

Which leaves a different question:

Who is this “I” that keeps needing the next thing to prove what it is?

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