Jumping Beyond Your Beanie: Musings on Stretch Goals, Focus and Seeing the Truth of Our Effort

Every year, in late December or early January, I put a “no meetings” block in my calendar, wait for the family breakfast bustle to fade, and then—still in my pyjamas and at my best energy time with a clear and creative headspace —I take a quiet morning to take stock of the past year and think strategically about the year ahead.

Stephen Covey’s familiar metaphor of rocks, pebbles and sand is usually in the back of my mind. Time and energy are finite. If you don’t put the rocks in first, everything else will swallow your days whole.

So I choose my rocks — the big things that matter — and I pin them to the wall next to my desk. They stay there all year, watching me, nudging me, reminding me gently of the direction I chose.

And yet, even with all of that, this year surprised me.

Actually, I surprised me.

But I only realised it when I stopped looking at how I felt about the year and started looking at the truth of the year.

Let me explain.

The story of the beanie

A few months ago, while facilitating a leadership development programme for a major law firm, a partner who led one of the programme's modules told a story about Bob Beamon, the American long jumper who achieved one of the most astonishing Olympic jumps in history.

The legend goes like this: before each attempt, Beamon would walk to the point of his personal best, place his beanie on the ground and then return to the starting line. His only intention was simple and clear: jump to the beanie.

At the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, he did the same. Except on that particular day, as he walked back, the legend has it that the wind blew his beanie even farther. Unaware, he launched himself towards what he believed was his usual marker — and he flew beyond it. Not by a little. By so much that the stadium fell silent before erupting into disbelief and celebration. He blasted the previous world record by nearly two feet. His world record stood for 23 years.

I haven’t broken any world records. And nobody blew my beanie for me.

But I did set myself a personal stretch this year.

One that felt like: I want this. I don’t yet know how to get there.

You might have your own version of that.

A financial figure.

A relationship you’d like to find yourself in, even though you’re not dating right now.

A job that feels fulfilling, though today it doesn’t.

A sense of ease or confidence you haven’t quite reached yet.

Whatever your equivalent is — that was mine.

A stretch without pressure

What surprised me was this: the goal didn’t stress me. Not the way a specific target can sometimes press on your ribs all year long.

I didn’t stare at it weekly.

I didn’t calculate how far I had left to go.

I didn’t force myself into strategies or contortions.

Instead, the stretch quietly shifted the way I showed up.

My mindset tilted just a little more forward.

I found myself thinking more strategically:

Who needs to know what I can help them with? Who might know someone I could support?

I reached out to people with genuine curiosity, not expectation.

And something interesting happened.

Some of those conversations led directly to work.

Others didn’t — but entirely different opportunities appeared from elsewhere.

Unconnected people came with introductions, ideas, possibilities.

It felt a little like the butterfly effect: flap your wings in one corner, and a gust of momentum arrives in another.

As a coach, I see this often in clients: once you set a direction with intention rather than pressure, your behaviour shifts. The world responds.

The emotional story vs the factual story

At the end of the year, I sat down for my annual review.

And emotionally, I felt… mixed.

Some rocks? Yes, achieved.

Some? Half-done.

Some? Not at all.

I caught myself putting little plus-minuses and crosses next to items on my list.

There was a faint sense of underwhelm — that quiet whisper of you could have done more.

But then I pulled out my calendar.

And the truth was completely different.

I had evidence of a year I had somehow forgotten to take credit for.

Every strength fitness session I had carved out space for.

Every family weekend plotted out (I send invites to my husband to share the mindload).

Every theatre trip, every musical, every date night, every client engagement.

And the intention to take more UK trips—twelve of them.

Twelve moments of exploration and connection that my emotional memory had condensed to “a few nice weekends”.

Suddenly the year looked fuller.

Kinder.

More intentional.

More mine.

Directional goals vs measurable goals

One of my rocks this year was simple: explore the UK again.

Not a number. Not a metric.

If I had said “twelve trips”, I would have overwhelmed myself.

Instead, the open-ended intention worked beautifully.

This taught me something I now use with clients too:

Some goals need precision.

Some need direction.

And the art is learning which one liberates you and which one tightens your breath.

Where overwhelm showed up anyway

Even with a strong year, there were moments — quite a few — where I felt ungrounded.

My brain buzzing.

Difficulty focusing.

That restless “have I forgotten something?” tension.

Evenings when the day had all the ticks but not the peace.

My go-to remedy is a simple one: I do a brain dump.

Not a to-do list — just a download of everything swirling inside.

I usually notice that overwhelm when I can't fall asleep. So I have a notebook and a pen in the bedside cabinet.

On paper, I can finally see the bottlenecks, the triggers, the things within my control and the things I need to release or ask for help with.

(That’s a whole different blog post… and one I will write.)

But what mattered this year was noticing:

Even in the overwhelm, I was moving steadily.

Even in the pressure points, I was learning.

Even in the chaos, there was direction.

Five years into doing annual reviews, I’m still refining, still experimenting, still discovering what works for me.

This is my pace.

My process.

And I’m owning it.

So what can you use from this?

Three things:

1. Set a stretch you don’t yet know how to reach.

Not one that overwhelms you — one that wakes you up a little.

One that makes you sit straighter.

One that subtly shapes your behaviour.

2. Choose the right type of goal for each area of your life.

Some goals should be measurable.

Some should be directional.

Both are powerful — when they work for you, so keep experimenting to find what works.

3. Review the facts of your year, not just the feelings.

Your emotions aren’t lying. They’re just incomplete.

Your calendar (or your phone's photo library) often tells a kinder, more accurate story than your inner critic.

What is next for you?

If you want next year to feel powerful, intentional and deeply satisfying — here’s the question to sit with:

What is one stretch marker, one rock, one direction you can set now that will make you proud of yourself a year from today?

And if you’d like support —

If you want a thinking partner, a challenger, a coach who helps you create change when the path isn’t clear yet — reach out for a chemistry call.

A new year is a wonderful place to begin.

Let’s make 2026 a year you look back on with joy, pride and a sense of I actually did that.

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