Why I Hate the "Five Year Plan"

All my reflections on "Where do you see yourself in five years?" and the dangers of predicting something unpredictable

As a recent college graduate, the question I’ve received most over the last six months is, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” I’ve gotten good at brushing it off, but the first time someone wanted a genuine response, my body went into fight or flight and I didn’t know what to say. It took time for me to pinpoint exactly what about this inquiry gives me so much anxiety. The fear of being behind? Of under performing? Of giving the wrong answer? Is it that everyone around me seems to have the perfect answer?

What finally gave me clarity was turning to my 17-year-old self and thinking about how she would have answered this dreaded question.

In 2020, I was a year away from graduating high school. I was applying to many schools, but poured my heart and soul into my application for the University of Notre Dame. I was completely obsessed, so much so that I’d drafted a “love thee” tattoo — an ode to the school’s motto — to have tattooed on my body upon admission. I was being considered for a number of scholarships, one of which would have provided a full ride to my dream university, and was at the peak of a passionate running career that I was confident would continue in college. Mostly, I was looking forward to time spent with friends before senior year and graduation.

My “five year plan” was this: I will graduate from Notre Dame on a full ride, I will have a tattoo, and I will be an athlete.

Much sooner than the “five years later” mark, COVID-19 became a global pandemic and everything shut down. I was denied from Notre Dame, didn’t get my tattoo, stopped running, and certainly wasn’t spending time in-person with friends. Very suddenly, my “five year plan” dissolved into nothing and, like many of us, I thought my life was over. It was one of the most anxiety riddled times in my life.

But then something different happened: I opened my application to Cornell — a school I applied to on a whim because it was there and I was curious — and got in. The next weekend, my mom and I drove to Ithaca and my “five year plan” changed. And guess what? Cornell ended up being the perfect place for me.

The thing about five year plans is that they’re made up of one year plans, one month plans, one week plans, etc., each with the capacity to influence the others. And those have never really been stable for me either.

During my freshman spring at Cornell, I planned to follow suit of my peers and aim for a corporate summer internship where I could network and career build to begin setting goals for my future. But then something different happened: I met a girl who told me about an incredible adventure she had been on the summer prior working for a sustainable permaculture project in the Galápagos Islands. I applied, was accepted, and off I went. There, I discovered a new passion and met one of my best friends. Today, I have a degree focused on environmental stability and a best friend to visit in the UK. It wasn’t a part of my plan, but it worked out perfectly.

During my sophomore year, I accepted a painting commission from a random Cornell alum in Washington DC. My plan was to complete the piece, mail it to her, and let her silently join my archive of past customers. Instead, she cold-FaceTimed me to talk about the commission, connected with me on my Cornell journey, and we became friends. Now, I have a second family who have celebrated and supported me through all of college – including a journey to celebrate my graduation in May – and we will forever be a part of each other’s lives. It wasn’t my plan, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Today I planned on getting a burrito for my shift meal, but my restaurant was busy so I got a sandwich instead, and it was delicious.

All of this is to say that plans rarely work out, especially for generations that have lived through global pandemic and turmoil.

My 17–year–old self was so devoted to my plan to attend Notre Dame, that a rejection felt like the end of my life when, instead, it was a push toward the beginning. Reflecting on that, I feel incredibly in tune with the knowledge that, if you commit too hard to a plan, you also commit to being devastated when it changes. It is this that urges me to be resilient and focus on the even better future that a changed plan can become, instead.

I can commit myself to any version of five years in the future, but deep in my soul I know that my 27–year–old life will look nothing like how my 22–year–old self imagines. Six months from now probably won’t look how I’m imagining it, either. So, an intimate five year plan feels like a set-up for failure; why try to predict something unpredictable?

This isn’t to say that one should have no plan. I simply advocate for a looser model that prioritizes life goals over career ones — although those can be intertwined — and considers inevitable change.

In May, Cornell’s College of Arts & Sciences invited me to be a part of their “Extraordinary Journeys” program, which features graduating seniors per nomination from professors. They sent me a grocery list of questions to answer, a few of which would be included in the feature. As you can imagine, one of the questions was, “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” This was my response:

Everyone always answers this question with the career they hope to have in 10 years, and while that’s a totally valid response, I think it puts unnecessary pressure on a future that is ultimately unpredictable. My Cornell experience taught me that — no matter how much you plan — things happen, things change, and things keep going. Thus, I’ve put a lot of effort into unlearning and relearning the way I think about my future goals and measure their accomplishment: In 10 years, I hope I’m happy and surrounded by people I love and who love me; I hope I have a job that stimulates my brain, inspires and fulfills me, and allows me to make enough money that I can give some away (I also hope it allows me to travel); I hope my younger brother and my parents are all happy. Most importantly, I hope I have a dog and a cat and that they cuddle with each other. (In 10 years, I also hope a publisher has taken liking to my writing.)

Unsurprisingly, the College did not elect to feature that answer… I don’t think they liked it very much. I believe they were looking for something more along the lines of how many books I hope to have published or which company I would like to be the CEO of. But I am proud of my response because it is exactly how I feel. I will never be someone who subscribes to a five year plan. Instead, I commit to knowing that I am more than prepared for what is to come, regardless of if it aligns with what I imagined, and that mindset has given me more peace and security than a plan ever has.

Finally, I owe some credit to my 17–year–old self who was able to predict one single element of my five years future: Against the will and judgement of my parents, I do have tattoos; She was right about that part.