Goals matter. Deeply.

When we set them well, they inspire us. They give us motivation. They create accountability — they inspire to get off the sofa, put down the biscuits, put our wet weather gear on and get out there and DO the hard things! 

Without goals, I would flounder in my training. I wouldn’t know what behaviour to train, or to what standard. I’m quite sure I wouldn’t train as much as I do.

And when I train — and the more I train — the better my connection and relationship with my dog becomes.

The way I train matters. I put kindness, fun, and patience first. I prioritise clarity and communication — and by communication, I mean two-way listening, not me barking orders. Because of that, training time is treasured. By me and by my dogs. It’s precious time.

It’s time where we truly see each other.
Observe each other.
Listen to each other.
Learn about each other.

The more we train, the more deeply we know one another. And the closer we become.

But… being a sometimes lazy human, I can easily forget this. The sofa is warm and easy. Life is busy. Days slip by. And it’s all too easy to let moments — and then weeks — pass without meaningful training.

This is why goals are so powerful.

Psychologically, we know that goals support motivation and accountability. That’s why every January, almost instinctively, we set goals for the year ahead. We know that when we name what matters, we’re more likely to show up — even when the thing we love is also damned hard! 

But goals are a double-edged sword.

That same motivation can turn into despondency.
Inspiration can morph into pressure.
Pressure can pull us out of connection and into performance.

We start to feel anxious or on edge as the “big day” approaches. We feel disappointed with outcomes — even when our dog did absolutely everything right and truly smashed it. We feel frustrated with ourselves, or with our dogs. We become self-critical. And as the season progresses, many of us feel flat, numb, or quietly unmotivated… with the familiar whisper of not good enough running underneath it all.

That feeling — not good enough — is pervasive. And it’s the reason most New Year’s resolutions fail.

We miss one day.
We break the habit once.
And suddenly motivation collapses into shame.

So it is with traditional goals in dog sports. We don’t get the win. We don’t qualify. And almost instantly we slide into self-criticism, despondency, and blame — sometimes even blaming our dog or the judge.

At this point, many people tell themselves a comforting lie:
“I’ll just have fun.”

Who are we kidding?

Yes, dog training is fun. But getting up at 4am, travelling hundreds of miles, standing in the cold and rain — that isn’t something we do “just for fun.” And our bodies know when we’re lying to ourselves.

So what does work?

I’ve spent years in dog sport trying, failing, reflecting, and learning what truly supports motivation without destroying joy. And in my last few years, I have the formula.

What doesn’t work is setting goals like:

• “This year we’ll qualify for the championship.”

• “This year we’ll win Crufts.”

• “This year we’ll qualify for the Worlds.”

They don’t work — for all the reasons above. The pressure. The disappointment. The emotional cost.

What does work is setting an inspiring goal. A ludicrously fun goal. A goal that’s out of reach this year — maybe even for several years.

That’s exactly what I did with Gracie.

When I started training her in IGP just two years ago, I quietly held the absurd idea of qualifying for the World Championships. It had never been done before with this breed. Ever. Which meant there was absolutely no reason to feel pressure.

It was a playful goal.
A silly goal.
An audacious one.

I tucked it away in the back of my mind.

But it mattered.

It was the reason I qualified her IGP1, IGP2, and IGP3 within months — so that we could even attempt a qualifier trial. Without that audacious goal, I wouldn’t have trained through winter the way I did. We wouldn’t have progressed the way we did.

And when we went to our first qualifier and crashed and burned?

It didn’t feel demotivating for a second.

I remember feeling almost giddy with excitement.

I knew this was our practice year. I knew the following year would be our true attempt. I knew that crashing was part of the process of succeeding. It was a learning experience for us both. It was our first National level competition, and we bummed. And I learned so much! So failing felt expansive, not crushing. It made the next year feel even more possible.

I remember leaving the trial absolutely on a high and telling my friends please don't be sad for me, be happy and excited for me for next year.

And that’s exactly what happened.

By the following season, we had experience. We’d earned high in trial at IGP3. I knew what Gracie was capable of. I also knew that a judge’s opinion — particularly of an off-breed in this sport — was never something I wanted to build a “realistic” goal around.

So my intention became simple: to compete with lightness, connection, and joy.

Which we did.

And yes — we won the top Obedience Trophy and qualified. And yes, the judge made wonderful comments about her. But that was never the point. It was just the icing on the cake. Because I never had control over his opinion anyway.

This is why intentions guide my training and competing.

I learned intention-setting through over 30 years of yoga practice. In yoga and mindfulness, we learn that the mind shapes experience. That how we choose to show up changes everything. This isn’t glib positivity — it’s a skill. A system. A way of working with mindset, nervous system, connection, and relationship.

My intentions for Gracie last year were these:

I intend to know Gracie more deeply.
To connect with her more fully.
To choose the things that bring her joy and allow her to shine.

When we work together, I intend that we embody love, connection, mutual respect, and understanding.

My intention in her sports career is to have a tough back and a soft heart — to be a fearless warrior of kindness.

I intend to prioritise Gracie and her feelings above everything else.

Those intentions carried us not only to qualification for the World Championships, but to achieving the best UK score at the championships — with a little female Aussie.

Had that been my goal for the year, it would have been absurd. But as a by-product of alignment? It was pure magic.

So here’s my invitation to you.

Can you create the most beautiful cake of intentions…
and layer it with audacious, playful goals…
and then allow the universe to add the icing?

Can you learn to trust the unfolding?
To surrender outcome without losing ambition?
To follow intention, not pressure?

Because that — more than any title or ribbon — is what makes the difference between a year that changes you… and one that quietly fades away.

If you’d like support with this, join my Practical Goal-Setting Workshop, where we’ll explore the subtle art of intention-making and journal our intentions and audacious goals for 2026 — setting a compass for a year that truly matters.