Wendyl Nissen: Five-year plan? Yeah right

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I've been reading a lot of books with words like "success", "grow" and "rich" in their titles.

It seems that when you have a small new business you need to read inspirational books which tell you how to be successful, grow and become a millionaire.

"You have to read it," said my friend in Los Angeles. "It changes your life," he added.

"But I don't want to change my life, I'm quite happy the way it is."

"That's what you think now," he said. "Wait until you've read it."

"So LA," I said to myself after hanging up.

I went out and bought the book plus three others recommended to me by people who know a bit about running businesses.

"Goals," I whispered to myself as I put down the last book.

"Sorry?" said my husband.

"Goals. I need goals."

He looked at me with concern before asking why.

"Just do. The books all say without goals you go nowhere."

And then I went out and bought a multi-year diary. I had no idea they existed, not being a goal setter or a planner.

Mine is red and when you turn to a particular day there is space to enter something for five different years. Which can be a little daunting if you turn to your birthday.

It sat next to my bed for three months while I waited for the "quiet time" advised by the books in which to spend time mapping out my goals.

Then I packed it in my suitcase when we went on a cruise. We stayed on a boat called Rhapsody of the Seas, which, translated in my mind, meant "Rhapsody of the Goal Settings".

"When would you like to schedule our goal-setting work?" I asked my husband, who likes to spend his days at sea reading books, going to the gym, reading books and eating.

"They're your goals, why do I need to be involved?" he protested.

"Because I presume that we will be living together for the next five years and you might like to know what I'll be getting up to."

Nothing happened. For six days we bobbed on the Pacific Ocean and I spent far too much time for my husband's liking sitting on our balcony staring at the ocean.

"Are you intending to leave the cabin at any stage on this trip?" he asked on day three.

"No, too much ocean to watch. Finding it very soothing," I mumbled before adding: "Bring more food."

Then I got out my knitting which I found to be a wonderful accompaniment to ocean-watching and only dropped my stitches once when I thought I saw a whale. It turned out to be my vivid imagination entertaining itself.

"Do you think we might go to a bar for a cocktail tonight?" pleaded my husband, who had been reduced to bringing me cocktails on my balcony.

"Might be good to get out and about and talk to a few people. It is our last night after all."

"Last night!" I said in horror. "We haven't done the goals!"

Out came the red book and we stared at each other from opposite ends of the balcony.

"I'm not sure how you get started," I said, five-year diary open and expectant.

"You're the one who read all the life-changing books," he replied.

"Let's start with travel," I suggested and we were away. Listing goals, assigning them their appropriate day and year in the diary and moving swiftly from travel to personal to business.

And then it was over. My red diary was full of information, but I felt terrible. In fact, I felt completely depressed and took to my bed.

"Another cocktail?" suggested my husband hopefully.

"I thought setting goals was supposed to be inspirational and energising. This is just my life, the way I am living it now, mapped out for the next five years. Where are the hopes? Where are the dreams? Stupid diary," I moaned as I threw it across the room.

"Did it ever occur to you that you're not a goal-setting type of person? That goals are for people with nothing to do and no imagination?"

I got out of bed, pulled on a strappy dress, put my hair up and threw on the first makeup I had worn all week.

"Let's go have that drink," I said triumphantly.

"Lovely," he said. "You might want to leave the knitting behind."