Have a goal. Know where you want to end up. Knowing where you

Hear now the words of Gary Cohn, spoken with the clarity of one who has walked the winding road of ambition: “Have a goal. Know where you want to end up. Knowing where you want to end up is a lot easier than figuring out how to start and how to get there. You will figure out how to get there. Do not chart your career. Trust me; you do not want to chart your career.” In these lines lies a teaching as ancient as the journeys of heroes, yet as fresh as the dawn of each new life. It is a call to trust in destiny, to place the eyes upon the far horizon rather than the stones at one’s feet.

For the heart that burns with purpose needs no perfect map. When the destination is known, the paths, though hidden at first, reveal themselves with time, with courage, with the steady march of persistence. To over-plan, to lay out every step of a career, is to bind oneself in chains of one’s own making, leaving no room for fortune, for surprise, for the hand of Providence. It is as if one draws a river upon paper, forgetting that the river will twist, flood, and carve its own course through the land.

Consider the tale of Christopher Columbus, who sought not the unknown seas for their own sake but longed for a goal: a passage to the East. His maps were flawed, his calculations broken, yet his vision burned clear. And though he stumbled upon a continent he did not intend, the world was forever changed. His journey teaches us that when the end is bright in the mind’s eye, the path may be wild, unexpected, and even perilous—yet it leads to transformation far greater than careful charts could have promised.

So too in life’s work: many seek to write their career as if it were a scroll whose lines must be obeyed. They measure the years, the titles, the promotions, as though each must fall exactly into place. But history mocks such arrogance. Great men and women—be they inventors, artists, leaders—did not arrive by following a strict design, but by moving ever toward the fire of their chosen vision. What matters is not the ladder they climbed, but the summit they beheld from the beginning.

Yet let us not mistake this teaching for passivity. To “figure out how to get there” is not to wander aimlessly, but to move with faith that action reveals the path. A sailor without destination is lost; but a sailor with destination, though storms blow him east or west, always rights his course. The wisdom here is not to neglect action, but to keep the goal ever fixed, while trusting that the steps, however uncertain, will unfold in their time.

Reflect, O seekers, upon your own lives. Do you not sometimes hesitate, saying: “I cannot begin until I know every step”? Do you not delay your dreams, waiting for the perfect plan? Cast aside such fear! Begin, even if you know not the full way. Let the first step be taken, for the path is revealed to those who walk, not to those who stand still. The ancients remind us: the oak does not ask how it shall grow to the sky; it simply reaches upward, and the seasons shape its form.

Thus the lesson is clear: have a goal, but do not chain yourself to the rigid charting of your career. Fix your gaze upon the horizon, but let your feet move freely. Welcome the detours, the storms, the hidden trails, for these will shape you into one worthy of the destiny you have chosen. Do not demand certainty—demand only the strength to continue.

And the action, dear listener, is this: take time to name your goal. Write it, speak it, let it be carved into your heart. Then release your need for perfect steps. When the opportunities come, seize them; when obstacles rise, overcome them; when new roads appear, walk them boldly. Trust that the journey, with all its unpredictability, is the very thing that makes the reaching of your destiny not only possible, but glorious. For the map is not the master—the goal is.