How to Set an Intention and Make It Real
After putting another $10,000 into my struggling business, I set a clear intention: we would create $8,000 in sales that week. By Friday, we had done it.
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How to Figure Out What You Want in Life by Knowing What You Don't
Somewhere in Afghanistan, I started thinking about a turkey sandwich.
Not just any turkey sandwich. Fresh roasted turkey, soft bread, maybe a little homemade ranch dressing.
I thought about this sandwich a lot.
Which was a little strange, considering I was working in military intelligence, helping protect Marines from roadside bombs. There were probably more pressing things to think about.
But there it was. The turkey sandwich.
At the time, I was working as a civilian contractor, and I had a pretty clear career path in front of me. If I stayed in intelligence, I could make a lot of money. Potentially enough to become wealthy.
There was just one problem.
I was beginning to realize I didn't want the life that came with it.
Sometimes Knowing What You Don't Want Is Enough
This was my second deployment to Afghanistan.
I was already married, but I hadn't made up my mind about having children. It was one of those enormous life decisions I hadn't quite figured out.
During that deployment, something changed.
I knew I wanted kids.
Not maybe. Not someday, if everything worked out.
I knew.
And once I became clear about that, another realization followed.
I wanted to be around to raise them.
I wanted the ordinary stuff. Dinner together. Bedtime stories. Coaching Little League. Being there when they came home from school.
What I didn't want was a life filled with goodbyes at the airport, leaving my wife and children behind while I traveled back and forth to a war zone.
Suddenly, the money didn't seem nearly as important.
It's funny how that works. One day, you're looking at a lucrative career and thinking about how much money you could make. The next, you're thinking about all the things that money might cost you.
I wasn't unhappy with the intelligence work. It was meaningful, challenging, and important.
But I was beginning to understand that a good career and a good life aren't necessarily the same thing.
And I wanted a different life.
The Turkey Sandwich Wasn't Really About Turkey
This wasn't my first major change in direction.
Years earlier, I had been working as a stockbroker in Lower Manhattan when I witnessed the September 11 attacks. That experience changed what I wanted from life. I felt compelled to serve something larger than myself, and eventually enlisted in the Air Force.
That decision led me to Korea, where I met my wife, and eventually to Afghanistan.
Now I was reconsidering my future again.
I loved food. I'd gone to culinary school and worked at Union Square Cafe in New York City. But I'd also learned that restaurant life, with its nights, weekends, and holidays, wasn't for me.
I didn't want to return to that.
And I didn't want to spend the next twenty years traveling to war zones.
So what did I want?
Apparently, a deli.
I started imagining a little sandwich shop. Something I could build myself. A place where I could make good food, earn a living, and hopefully be home with my family.
I even talked about it with my friend and bunkmate, Frank Losi, a Navy captain who was passionate about our mission.
Frank had every reason to think I was nuts.
Here we were dealing with enemy tactics and improvised explosive devices, and I was dreaming about shaved turkey and fresh bread.
But Frank encouraged me. He saw leadership qualities in me that I hadn't yet recognized in myself. I've written about that friendship in my tribute to Frank Losi.
I didn't have everything figured out. I didn't know whether the deli would succeed.
But I knew what I wanted it to make possible.
I wanted to build a family, and I wanted to be there for it.
The turkey sandwich was just the vehicle.
How to Figure Out What You Want by Starting With What You Don't
I think we put too much pressure on ourselves to know exactly what we want from life.
We expect young people to choose careers before they've experienced much of anything. We expect adults to have a plan. And when we're unhappy, we assume we should immediately know what will make us happy instead.
But figuring out what you want doesn't always work that way.
Sometimes you have to start by eliminating what you don't want.
You take a job and discover that you hate sitting behind a desk.
Good. You learned something.
You pursue a promotion and realize that the extra money isn't worth the additional stress.
Another useful discovery.
You try something, fail, and decide you'd rather do just about anything else.
That's progress, too.
In my own life, working in restaurants taught me that I didn't want to sacrifice nights and weekends. Wall Street helped me recognize a desire for greater purpose. Afghanistan helped me understand how much I wanted to become a father.
Each experience eliminated something, but it also revealed something.
If you're struggling to figure out what you want in life, try asking yourself three questions:
- What do I know I don't want? Think about experiences, commitments, or circumstances that leave you feeling unfulfilled.
- What does that tell me about what I value? If you hate being away from home, maybe you value family and stability. If you dislike being told what to do, maybe independence matters more than you realized.
- What's one thing I could try that moves me toward those values? Not a complete life overhaul. Just something that gives you more information.
And if you still don't know?
Keep exploring.
Take the class. Try the job. Learn the skill. Meet new people. Pay attention to what excites you and what drains you.
You don't need to pretend you have everything figured out. You just need to keep participating in life while you discover what matters.
Clarity often comes from experience, not from sitting around waiting for an answer.
Begin With the End in Mind, Even If You Have to Find It First
Stephen Covey famously encouraged people to "Begin with the End in Mind" in The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.
I've always thought that's powerful advice.
But there's a problem.
What happens when you don't know what you want the end to look like?
That's where elimination comes in.
Sometimes it's easier to identify what you don't want than to articulate what you do.
I knew I didn't want to spend years traveling back and forth to Afghanistan. I knew I didn't want to miss my children's childhoods. And I knew I didn't want to return to the nights and weekends of restaurant work.
Each thing I eliminated helped bring the picture into focus.
I wanted to be a father. I wanted to be home. I wanted meaningful work that would allow me to build a life around my family.
Elimination created clarity. Clarity created intention. And intention gave my decisions direction.
Once I could imagine the life I wanted, I could start working backward.
What kind of career would allow me to be present? What sacrifices was I willing to make? What opportunities aligned with the future I imagined?
That's the power of intention.
Not some magical force where you imagine something and the universe delivers it to your doorstep.
Something much more practical.
When you know what you want, you begin evaluating choices differently. You notice opportunities you might previously have overlooked. And you become willing to walk away from things that look attractive on paper but don't fit the life you're trying to build.
For me, the end state wasn't a business. It wasn't a particular income or job title.
It was a family.
Entrepreneurship was simply one possible way to get there.
And the wonderful thing about beginning with the end in mind is that you don't need to know every step along the way.
You just need enough clarity to recognize whether you're moving in the right direction.
I've written more about this distinction between goals and direction in finding your personal North Star. Goals give you something to accomplish. Your North Star reminds you why you're doing it.
Of course, your North Star can change. Mine certainly has.
After September 11, I wanted to serve my country. Years later, in Afghanistan, I wanted to become a father. Both were meaningful directions for different chapters of my life.
Knowing what you want doesn't mean you've solved life forever.
It means you've found something worth moving toward.
The Life I Was Actually Choosing
I eventually bought Apple Spice Box Lunch & Catering, believing I was getting a little deli.
It turned out to be a much bigger and more complicated business than I imagined.
There have been long days, financial worries, employee problems, and plenty of moments when I wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into.
Entrepreneurship is hardly a shortcut to peace and relaxation.
But today, I have two children.
I've coached baseball, taken the kids hiking, cooked dinners, helped with homework, and spent countless ordinary hours together.
I've missed things, too. I've worked too much sometimes. I've brought business stress home when I shouldn't have.
But I've been here.
And when I think back to Afghanistan, that's what strikes me most.
I didn't know exactly what my future would look like. I didn't know I'd become a business owner or that leadership would eventually become one of the most meaningful parts of my work.
I certainly didn't know how many problems could be created by the seemingly simple act of selling somebody lunch.
But I knew I wanted to be a father.
And I knew I didn't want to spend my children's lives saying goodbye at airports.
That was enough to give me a direction.
Sometimes you have to spend years discovering what you don't want before you finally recognize what matters most.
And sometimes, when you do, the next step becomes surprisingly obvious.
I thought I was choosing a turkey sandwich. I was really choosing who I'd be sitting down to dinner with.
“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”
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