When we're little our parents, teachers and pretty much any and every adult in our lives urges us to pick a path. Of course they know that when they ask us what we want to do with our lives and we answer with "ballerina" or "astronaut" that our answer will probably be something different if they ask us again the next day, but from a very young age they instill in us a goal-oriented mindset. This mindset only becomes stronger once we reach adolescence and the pressure of our futures starts to bear down on us.

What college do I want to go to? What do I want to major in? What's going to best set me up for the future?

This pressure is placed on us for good reason. No one wants to make the decisions that are going to lead them down the wrong path in life, whether it be financially, physically or emotionally, and working towards an end goal—becoming the best in your field, buying your own house or settling down to raise a family—is a great way to start off your life's journey. But what's the point in getting there if you don't enjoy or appreciate the route you took to get there?

I've always been goal-oriented to a fault; I'm a planner, I like to pick a route and stick to it, keeping the end-goal in mind above all else, and often losing pieces of myself in the process. My parents have always pushed me to make the right decisions based on where I wanted to end up (and where they wanted me to end up), but it wasn't until I was in college and not enjoying myself that I realized this mantra of How do I want my life to end up should have really been How do I want my life to be.

The experience that solidified this concept for me was my first mountain hike. It started off easy enough, more like a walk on a trail in the woods than a hike, but soon became more difficult than I had anticipated. We weren’t even on the mountain yet, but there were walls of rocks and roots that seemed extremely daunting. I imagined this was how Harry Potter felt in "The Sorcerer's Stone" when he first encountered Fluffy and knew he still had a bunch of trials and tribulations before he could save the stone—of course, Harry had magic and all I had was my hands and feet, and my brand-new hiking boots to help me in my journey.

My boyfriend and I trekked up the rocks, and scoffed once we reached what we thought was the first plateau indicating the halfway mark. The trail we took was only 4.5 miles, but the website had said to prepare for seven to eight hours of hiking. We thought it was over, exaggerated by a long shot, how could it take seven to eight hours if we had already reached the half-way point in an hour and a half? So we stopped, ate a little lunch, and admired the view before continuing on in the hopes of reaching the summit within the next hour.

At every plateau, it slowly dawned on us that we were nowhere near the half way mark, and every time we reached what we thought was the summit there was another rock pile indicating the continuation of the trail. When we looked in the distance, there were even more peaks, each higher than the next and each seeming to get farther away with every step we took. But we continued on, stopping every once in a while to appreciate the view and congratulate ourselves on how far we’d come.

“We’re almost there,” we kept telling each other.

Once we finally reached the summit (for real this time), we inhaled the fresh air and reveled in the cool breeze, breathlessly saying “we did it,” and pointing to all the lakes that seemed like puddles now that we were 3,000 ft up. It was beautiful, it truly was, but once we drank a bit of water and took in the view one last time, we headed back down, telling ourselves “we’re almost there,” and counting down the markers until we reached the end of the trail.

We had gone into it with the ultimate goal of reaching the summit, but once we were there the satisfaction and relief was only temporary because we had to turn right around and make our way back down to flat land.

The thing about making goals is that once you reach them, they’re gone. You don’t really hover in the satisfaction of them for the rest of your life—you move on, make another goal and try to reach it. So what’s the point living only for the feeling of reaching a goal, when that goal, once reached, will cease to have its same importance and eventually fall to the wayside in a pile marked accomplished?

While the thing we have been told our whole lives, to live for the end goal, may be motivating, it doesn’t leave us entirely fulfilled, especially if we’re miserable while attempting to reach that end objective. The real key to happiness is to enjoy the journey, not the idea of reaching your goal, because once you reach it, it’s only a matter of time before you’re off to the next one.

Sure, I was proud of myself for reaching the summit, but the satisfaction only lasted until we turned around and had to go back down. The best part of the journey was all the little peaks where we took a moment and lived, breathing in the fresh air, and reveling in the thrill of working towards an accomplishment.

So instead of keeping your eye directly on the prize, let it wander a little and live for the journey. You’ll still reach your goals if you’re determined enough, but at least when you look back, you’ll have memories worth remembering and satisfaction knowing you didn’t just live for a temporary goal.