I Work On A 5 Year Time Frame. Anything Less Is A Loss.

I have a rule: I don’t start anything I’m not willing to commit five years of my life to. No projects I’m going to get bored with after six months, no half-hearted schemes for a quick cash grab. If I can’t see myself grinding away at it for 5–7 years, minimum, I don’t even bother. I believe in the long game.

Anything worth doing—writing a book, starting a business, running for office, whatever you actually give a damn about—is worth the time it takes to get it right. It’s about years, not weeks. Years that force you to grow, to learn, to make every mistake in the book and still keep pushing forward, so when you finally get there, you know you’ve done it to the best of your ability.

When I start something, I want to see it through. I want to work on it, bleed for it, squeeze every last drop of effort I’ve got into it. I want to cross the finish line no matter how banged up I am when I get there.

And yeah, I have big dreams. Always have. I want to leave a dent in the universe, change the world, all that grandiose stuff. But I know none of that is going to happen unless I can actually focus. Unless I can commit for the long haul and stop getting distracted by every shiny shortcut that pops up.

That’s the reality of it: if you want to do something that matters, you have to be willing to put in the years. You have to be willing to go all in, even when it feels like you’re getting nowhere. Because anything else? That’s just killing time.

A Short Time Frame Means You Want a Quick Pay Off

You don’t accomplish anything of value if you’re just sprinting to the finish line, grabbing the check, and bailing. When you’re living in a short time frame, the quick payoff is the only thing that matters. Everything else—growth, integrity, the bigger picture—gets tossed aside like an old sandwich wrapper.

And the minute you don’t get what you want right away, you’re done. If the world isn’t begging for an encore after your first song, or throwing awards at your first draft, you decide the whole thing’s a waste of time and pack it in.

I’ve seen it a hundred times—musicians, artists, writers, politicians, builders. They’re all riding high on this fantasy that success should just materialize, like a vending machine dropping a candy bar. And when it doesn’t? When reality strolls in and says, “Hey, you’re gonna have to work for this”? They fold. They give up.

And it’s brutal to watch, because some of these people genuinely have something to offer. But instead of digging in, instead of taking the punches and pushing forward, they’re the ones letting themselves down. They’re out there chasing fireworks, too impatient to light the fire.

5 Years Gives You Time to Shake the Foundations

Why 5 years? Because it’s the perfect amount of time to marinate in the quiet dread of potential failure, without fully descending into the loud panic of inevitable failure. Five years is enough time to tenderize the soul. You could go from a nobody to a legend, or from a nobody to a nobody with five years of extremely detailed regrets. Either way, you’re richer for the experience.

You spend 5 years squinting at your goals like they’re a map of ancient ruins. No shortcuts, just this slow-burning hope that maybe, by the end of it, you’ll understand how to read the damn thing. Is there a chance you’ll make it in less time? Sure. But I’d sooner bet on a penguin crossing a freeway in rush hour.

I’ve tried to speedrun my life and my career before, and it’s always ended in bitter disappointment. I don’t do that anymore. I work on 5 year time frames, because I know that setting anything lower is setting myself up for a loss.