Choosing a project for a season of life

What is a season-of-life project?

It’s a project whose format fits a clearly identifiable period. You choose to explore photography for a few weeks, collect recipes during a stay, or put together a small portfolio during a job search. The period provides a practical framework, but it doesn’t make completing anything in particular mandatory.

The word “season” can help you think of a choice as something you can revisit. It can also feel limiting if it suggests there’s an age for creating, traveling, or learning. So keep the metaphor only if it works for you. Your project depends on your interests, constraints, and possibilities, not a universal timeline for life.

The guide to separating your interests from other people’s goals is a good starting point. You can recognize an outside influence without concluding that your interest is false; simply ask yourself what appeals to you about the activity itself.

How do you choose a project for this season of life?

1. Describe the conditions without telling your whole life story

Note what is changing in concrete terms: schedules, space, responsibilities, access to a place, people who are available, or uncertainty about the timeline. These factors influence a project’s format. They don’t define your identity and don’t necessarily call for a psychological interpretation.

You could write: “I have two flexible time slots and can’t leave my supplies set up.” This sentence points toward an activity you can take with you or pause easily. It’s more useful than a judgment like “I’m in a phase where I’m no good at anything.” The time estimation journal can help you start with observations.

2. Identify the kind of experience you’re looking for

Do you want to learn, create something, meet people, share something, or simply explore? Several projects could meet the same need. If you’re looking for connection, an ambitious solo activity won’t necessarily be the best choice, even if you’re drawn to its outcome.

Sheldon and Elliot’s work on goals aligned with personal interests and values encourages you to consider the reasons behind a goal. It doesn’t offer a test that identifies your “true project.” Here, the question remains practical: Why does this activity deserve a place in this stage, and what version would honor that reason?

3. Compare a few interests using the same criteria

Choose a small number of options, then compare their startup cost, how easy they are to pause, and how much they truly interest you. You don’t necessarily have to assign scores. One clear sentence for each criterion may be enough. The guide to choosing a priority among several projects helps you move beyond endless comparison.

An activity may be very appealing but depend on equipment you can’t access. Another may be easy to start but not very appealing. No single criterion decides it. You can keep the first as a future interest and try a simplified version instead of automatically choosing what takes the least effort.

4. Define a trial version

A trial doesn’t have to recreate the entire project. To explore writing stories, one scene may be enough. To discover visual work, a small series of sketches may tell you more than buying supplies. Describe what you hope to learn from the trial before deciding whether it was a success.

You can then note what you enjoyed about the actual practice, what surprised you, and what makes you want to return. The confidence to begin a new activity doesn’t ask you to be certain you’ll continue. You’re allowed to try it and discover you’d rather do something else.

An example: a time of moving

You’d like to learn ceramics, put together an album, and write a long story. For a few weeks, boxes and appointments make your space unsettled. Ceramics remains important to you, but getting organized for it requires conditions you don’t have yet. You can keep it in mind without promising yourself you’ll start right away.

The album could be pared down to a selection of photos, but you realize that what you’re really looking for is a way to keep a record of this transition. A moving journal with a few short scenes better meets that need. This choice doesn’t mean you’re giving up on the other two projects; you’re making room for what fits this moment.

At the end of the move, you revisit this decision. Maybe the long story appeals to you again, or the ceramics studio becomes accessible. The next period doesn’t have to “make up for” the previous one. You start from your current circumstances and what you learned from trying.

How can you keep an ambition without locking in the outcome?

Distinguish the direction, the version, and the commitment. The direction might be to create more. The version might be a ten-page notebook. The commitment might be to attend two sessions you’ve already chosen. When your context changes, these levels don’t necessarily have to change together.

The guide to distinguishing intention from goal helps preserve this flexibility. You can still want to share memories while replacing a printed book with a few private recordings. You can also discover that the direction itself no longer feels right, without forcing an artificial adjustment.

Set a reasonable end point. Finishing a small series, giving it a try, or clarifying a question may be enough. Without that marker, a seasonal project can go on indefinitely. The guide to defining what success looks like for a goal helps you choose an ending that doesn’t depend solely on how others see you.

When should you revisit the choice?

Choose a review point tied to the context: after you move in, at the end of a course, or after a few trial sessions. This check-in is an opportunity to ask a question, not an obligation to continue. You can decide to continue, scale back, reschedule, or stop. The project’s usefulness is tested in practice, not only when you imagine it.

A judgment-free goal review can cover three things: what you actually experienced, what the project required, and what you hope for next. If you barely practiced, first look at what kept you from getting started. Was the format a poor fit, was your motivation low, or were the circumstances different from what you expected?

Avoid making every change into a new identity. You don’t need to declare yourself a “person who writes” or a “person who never finishes anything.” A seasonal transition journal can simply keep track of a transition and the decisions that come with it.

The limits of this metaphor

Some constraints are long-lasting or imposed. Calling them a “season” shouldn’t minimize a material hardship, an illness, or a heavy responsibility. You may need practical support rather than a better-worded project. The journal doesn’t replace professional or social resources suited to your situation.

Likewise, not every moment needs a project. A period can be devoted to maintaining what already exists, resting, or not taking on anything new. Choosing not to start anything is also an option. You can keep a weekly intention light one without turning it into a personal transformation program.

For a complementary perspective, watch this video from The ACT Therapist.

Sources

• Sheldon, K. M., Elliot, A. J. (1999). Goal striving, need satisfaction, and longitudinal well-being: The self-concordance model.

The suggested exercises are editorial adaptations, not individually validated protocols. The example situations are fictional.