If you aim at nothing, you'll hit it every time.

In the days of our fathers, and in the days before them, the wise men often spoke in parables. Among such voices is that of Zig Ziglar, whose words resound like the clang of a bronze bell at dawn: “If you aim at nothing, you’ll hit it every time.” At first glance, the phrase is simple, a jest wrapped in plain cloth. But within it burns a fire of truth: he who does not set his sights upon a star will forever walk in darkness, content only to stumble into the void.

Consider the archer on the battlefield. His bow is strong, his arm steady, his quiver filled with arrows. Yet if he lifts his weapon without target, loosing shaft after shaft into empty skies, he conquers nothing. His strength is wasted, his arrows fall into dust. So it is with the life of man: without a goal, without a vision, without a destiny chosen, his days scatter like arrows into the wind, leaving no mark upon the earth.

Think, then, on the builders of the pyramids in the land of Egypt. Their king did not say, “Raise me a mound of sand,” but gave instead a mighty vision: a structure that would pierce the heavens, a tomb that would last for eternity. Because the workers were given a clear aim, their labor became focused, their efforts united, and stone upon stone they raised wonders that endure to this very hour. Had they built without design, their work would have crumbled with the shifting sands, forgotten as the dust. This is the power of an aim: it gives meaning to toil, and transforms effort into legacy.

But reflect also on the wandering souls of history—those who drifted without vision. There were rulers who inherited kingdoms yet lost them, for they made no plans to preserve them. There were soldiers who fought bravely yet gained no victory, for they had no strategy. Even in our own lives, we see this truth: the student who never sets a goal for learning, the worker who never decides what mountain to climb, the lover who never dares to envision a future of devotion. All strike their arrows into nothingness, and all reap the harvest of emptiness.

Yet, take heart, for the words of Ziglar are not meant to condemn, but to awaken. They cry to us: choose a mark, however small, however distant, and aim for it with all the strength of your spirit. Better to miss the star in the heavens than to strike the darkness with nothing. For in the aiming, in the striving, the soul grows strong, and the arrow of your life flies with purpose.

Let us look to the tale of Christopher Columbus. For years he was ridiculed, his dream mocked, his plans dismissed as folly. But he had an aim—to reach the Indies by sailing westward. Though he did not find the land he sought, he found instead a new world, a continent that reshaped human destiny. His aim gave direction to his courage, and though the target shifted, the arrow of his vision struck the heart of history itself. This teaches us that the power of aiming is not always in striking the precise bullseye, but in daring to release the arrow at all.

Therefore, O listener, do not live without vision. Do not wake each day as though life is merely to be endured. Set your heart on a noble aim—be it to grow in wisdom, to build in strength, to serve with compassion, or to create beauty. Write your goal, hold it in your mind, and let each action of your day bend like the bow toward it. For if you aim at nothing, you will indeed hit nothing. But if you aim at greatness, even should you fall short, your life shall be marked with glory.

The lesson is plain: choose your aim, however humble, and pursue it. Make lists, carve milestones, seek mentors, and measure your steps. For life without aim is life without harvest. But life with aim—whether to be a good parent, a master of craft, or a servant of truth—becomes a story worth telling, a flame worth remembering, an arrow that flies true across the ages.