Have Your Financial Goals Lost the Plot?

As we near the end of March, I know what you’re thinking: Q1 is almost over! (No? Just me?)

This year I decided to try something a little different when thinking about my 2023 ambitions. And while I’ve usually long defected from my best Jan. 1 intentions by the time we’re pulling up on the month of April, I’m thrilled to report that I’ve finally cracked the code to reaching my goals (she says, eye twitching): Focus on inputs, not outcomes.

Here’s an example: I was considering setting a reading goal for 2023. Should I read 40 books? 50? I wondered, with my annual review questions sprawled across the kitchen table, true to my Type A form.

But there was a problem with this type of goal setting that focused on…well, the goal.

Reading 40 books is great. Reading 50 books is better. But to what end? At the risk of putting Three-Months-Ago Me on blast, who cares if you read 40 or 50 books? Do you want to check a zillion books off your list so you can flex on Goodreads, or do you believe reading every day will generally improve your quality of life? If it’s the latter, does it really matter how many books you read as long as you’re reading consistently and expanding your worldview?

We make the same mistake when we focus too intently on our financial goals without paying attention to whether the inputs they require will create the type of life we want to live.

Maybe your financial goal is to be a millionaire. Maybe it’s to buy a 4,000-s.f. home with a pool shaped like the eggplant emoji. Maybe it’s to earn $250,000 per year. 

On the surface, these goals sound (and feel) commendable. If I were to call my parents and announce my financial goal was to become a multimillionaire, their reaction would probably be more positive than if I declared my goals were to work for three hours per day and dye my hair pink. Our unconscious brains are programmed to value prestige over our own happiness (Haidt, 2006).

But what if becoming a millionaire, owning the biggest home in your neighborhood, and earning $250,000 annually requires a lifestyle that makes you—drumroll please—totally miserable? Are they still good goals?

While it’s not necessarily true that earning more means working more (or that working more means enjoying your life less), we tend to gloss over these questions in our pursuit of financial goals. What’s more, we also assume that reaching said goals will net permanently positive results.

I realized that the true intent of my book goal wasn’t to outdo my well-read friends—it was that, on some fundamental level, I believed reading each day would lead to a more robust sense of well-being. It was almost certainly better than melting slack-jawed into a TikTok sinkhole and repeatedly punching the “remind me in 15 minutes” option on my screen time limit before bed. 

So instead, I decided to focus on the input, not the outcome: 45 minutes of reading each night, as opposed to 40 or 50 books in a year. And now, three months in, I’m 13 books deep (and moderately less addicted to the clock app).

Maybe there’s a similarly better approach to financial progress.

Rather than a goal like “Hit a $100,000 net worth,” maybe it’s, “Check my bank account every Sunday and move any amount over $X into my IRA.” 

Rather than a goal like “Get a 30% raise,” maybe it’s, “Maintain my same level of income but begin taking Friday afternoons off to work on a fulfilling side project.”

These inputs—these habits—serve to further the underlying emotion your original goal was probably trying to satisfy: the feeling of financial progress. The feeling of an expanding career.

To reframe, consider your financial goal and ask: How will I feel when I achieve it? Safe? Secure? Accomplished? In control?

That emotion is your true goal. The money is just a proxy for it.

But this isn’t just a touchy-feely “You’ll own nothing and be happy” case for three-day weekends at the expense of your financial well-being (this is Money with Katie, after all). The best part is that focusing on an input usually ends up inadvertently generating the desired outcome as a byproduct. (In my case, 13 books in three months puts me on pace to hit 52 books this year.)

More importantly, thinking this way ensures that you won’t summit your Scrooge McDuck pile of cash or high-powered career and think, “YES! I hit the goal!…but now what?”

Because while the initial experience of acquiring more money is exhilarating, the adrenaline rush fades as it becomes the status quo (Breiter, Aharon, Kahneman, Dale, and Shizgal, 2001). Even if each incremental dollar used to produce a feeling akin to shotgunning a Red Bull, eventually, you’ll develop a caffeine tolerance. It’s textbook hedonic adaptation.

Instead, creating input-based financial habits rather than output-based goals creates an enduring sense of prosperity, rather than a sugar rush that will quickly fade.

What are your financial goals for 2023? What’s the underlying emotion you really want to feel? And how could you reframe your goals to achieve [that emotion/what you REALLY want]? And please, DM me your book recs so I can keep on course for my 2023 goal.