We’ve all heard the phrase, “the end justifies the means.” But in this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I want to turn it inside out and explore this idea from another angle. What if, for some people, focusing solely on the outcome as the ultimate goal can lead to a dissatisfying and alienating approach to life?

This question struck me as I emerged from a week-long rabbit hole. In the previous episode, I talked about unexpectedly diving into research about a self-help influencer and the questionable details surrounding their latest book. At first glance, it might have seemed like a distraction—a detour from what I “should” have been doing.

When I sense myself going off the deep end, it’s almost like slow motion. I can feel it happening but there’s not much I can do to stop it. Once something stirs inside me at a deep level. So, despite my logical brain yelling, “Andy, no! You don’t have time for this. Stop. Close that webpage. Put your phone away!” I find myself slipping into the rabbit hole anyway. “OK”, rational brain continues. “See you in a week or so? Remember to eat! Bye.”

This has happened many times over the years. There’s often a nagging voice of judgment, telling me it’s a waste of time, that I’m being pulled in a million directions. But recently, I’ve noticed a shift. Over the past two or three years, I’ve started to see these moments differently. Instead of dismissing them as irrelevant distractions, I’ve begun to ask new questions that help me stay focused. It’s partly about mindset and my relationship with the subject, but it’s also about the spirit I bring into the rabbit hole. And that’s where the idea of “the means justify the end” emerges.

For me, it’s about trusting the process. I don’t always know where I’ll end up, but I know it will be okay because of how I choose to travel there.

This reminds me of economist David Galenson’s research on creativity, which I first encountered through my friend Kendra Patterson. She highlighted the distinction between experimental and conceptual innovators in a podcast about late bloomers.

As William Landay writes in his article Experimental Writers vs. Conceptual Writers:
“Experimental innovators are seekers. They’re characterized by persistent uncertainty about their methods and goals. They’re often dissatisfied with their current work but have only vague ideas about how to improve it. This dissatisfaction drives them to experiment, moving tentatively toward imperfectly perceived objectives. No matter how much progress they make, they rarely consider their work a complete success.

In contrast, conceptual innovators are finders. They’re marked by certainty about their methods, goals, or both. This clarity allows them to work methodically toward their objectives, often feeling they’ve fully realized their vision in a particular work.”

For conceptual innovators, the end justifies the means. But for experimental innovators, the means justify the end. It’s more about the journey than the destination. The process itself brings the “end” into focus, even if it doesn’t feel complete. It’s a waypoint on a road to nowhere, anywhere, and everywhere.

When I first heard about this distinction at the end of 2020, it sparked something in me. I recognised myself in the descriptions of experimental creativity. My projects never turn out as I expect them to, and I feel restricted by SMART goals or rigid outcomes that demand a fixed course of action.

Around the same time, I created The Return to Serenity Island, a project that became a way for me to creatively process this discovery and reshape my relationship with goal setting and personal growth. It was a departure from the “start with the end in mind” paradigm I’d been taught in coaching courses—an approach that assumes you’ll drift, waste time, and fail unless you know exactly where you’re going and take consistent action to get there.

It was liberating to realise that while this approach works for many, it’s not universal. Some of us grow and succeed inductively, connecting dots as we go. We end up in places we could never have conceptualised at the start. I’ve often reached the end of a project and thought, “I would never have dreamed I’d end up here.” And if I’d stuck with my original idea, I would have missed so much of the potential that emerged along the way.

Kendra wrote, “Part of the struggle for experimental creatives is that our culture is skewed toward a preference for the conceptual style. We don’t like working without a plan or appreciating products that emerge slowly and unpredictably. Experimental creatives thrive in uncertainty and ambiguity—conditions that scare the crap out of us collectively as a culture. In such an unwelcoming environment, it’s not uncommon for experimental creatives to struggle for years, if not decades, to develop their voice and feel confident in their process. If this is you, keep going! Your best work lies ahead.”

This experimental approach also feels fundamentally different from the hero’s journey narratives we’re often fed, which are rooted in a quest for a specific purpose or destiny. In the conceptual sense, purpose is a pre-existing puzzle we try to assemble. In the experimental sense, purpose is the glue we use to build a mosaic, piece by piece.

As Galenson notes, “Experimental innovators’ achievements usually depend on gradual improvements in their understanding and mastery. Their major contributions often emerge late in their careers. Conceptual innovations, on the other hand, depend on new ideas and typically occur early in a creator’s life.”

The Return to Serenity Island is the course I created to re-imagine goals through an experimental lens. It’s an alternative to traditional, conceptual goal-setting models. The project itself felt like an example of my experimental self taking the reins. It evolved into a narrative-driven experience with soundscapes, inviting participants to reconnect with their childlike spirit and navigate the adult fog to find their creative core.

I’m currently launching our Spring Voyage back to Serenity Island. It’s designed to help you find calm, clarity, and inspiration—to make things work for who and how you are, not who you’ve been told you ought to be.