The projector whirred, a low, comforting drone in the chilled conference room, cutting through the scent of burnt coffee and desperation. Another Monday, another 150-slide deck, its glossy surface reflecting the anxious hopes of everyone present. Up on the screen, a hockey-stick graph arced upwards, defying gravity and every market trend known to humanity. It was 2024, but the presentation was a meticulously crafted vision of 2029, a future so neat, so predictable, it felt like an insult to the chaos of last week, let alone the unpredictability of next Tuesday.

We couldn’t even nail down our priorities for next quarter. Yet, here we were, nodding along, feigning understanding as a consultant, pristine in his charcoal suit, waxed eloquent about “synergistic value-chains” and “holistic ecosystem integration.” No mention of new competitors emerging from garages, no zero-day exploits, no unforeseen global disruptions. Just a smooth, unblemished ascent to a promised land of astronomical profits. It dawned on me, as it often does in these moments, that these long-term strategic plans aren’t about planning at all. They’re about creating a comforting illusion of control in a world that delights in proving us wrong. They are, in essence, corporate horoscopes, offering a false sense of destiny for the next five years.

The Illusion of Control

This isn’t cynicism; it’s a frustration born of watching good people chase ghosts. Our obsession with long-range forecasting, with tying ourselves to assumptions that are already obsolete before the ink dries, prevents us from being truly agile and responsive to the present reality. We map out journeys to distant stars while tripping over pebbles right in front of us. I remember vividly, maybe 3 years back, almost sinking a project because I was so fixated on a 12-month timeline, ignoring the daily feedback loops screaming for a pivot. It felt like I’d put my phone on mute and then wondered why no one was answering my calls. A very specific, very humbling mistake, repeated on a grander scale in corporate boardrooms daily.

The Tyranny of the “Next Fix”

I’ve been learning a lot recently from Oliver Y., an addiction recovery coach I met through a rather convoluted series of events – a story for another time, maybe. Oliver talks about the tyranny of the “next fix,” the way the mind latches onto future promises to avoid confronting present discomfort. He sees parallels, chilling ones, in how businesses operate. “You chase that 5-year high,” he told me once, “that projected growth of 33%, the market share increase of 13%, and you miss the actual, tangible needs right in front of you.” He’s right. We become addicted to the idea of control, the fantasy of a predictable future. He explained that after only 3 sessions, many of his clients start to grasp the power of the present moment, how waiting for a distant future only delays true progress. It’s a stark contrast to the corporate world, where we’ve spent the past 73 quarters refining the art of deferring reality.

Oliver often stresses that recovery isn’t about perfectly charting the next 300 days; it’s about making the next 3 hours count. It’s about recognizing the real challenges, the genuine opportunities, not the ones conjured up by a team of highly paid external consultants. This perspective, uncomfortably accurate, makes you wonder how many opportunities have slipped through our fingers because we were gazing too far into the horizon, too engrossed in a grand narrative of 2029. We build these elaborate edifices of future success on foundations of current denial.

Chains of Rigidity

The problem isn’t the aspiration itself, but the rigidity. It’s the conviction that if we just plan harder, if we include another 3 layers of contingency, we can outsmart uncertainty. But uncertainty, like a mischievous child, just finds a new game. These plans become chains, binding us to outdated assumptions. When the market shifts, when a competitor drops a bombshell, when customer needs evolve in ways no focus group could have predicted, we’re stuck. We’ve invested millions, maybe $4,333,000, not just in the document itself, but in the internal narrative that this plan is our future. To deviate feels like failure, like admitting the oracle was wrong. So, we double down, we make excuses, we twist data to fit the prophecy. It’s a tragic waste of human ingenuity, forcing brilliant minds to spend their days justifying a fantasy instead of adapting to reality. It’s the equivalent of trying to drive a car with the rearview mirror as your sole guide, focused on where you were going, rather than where you are.

We talk endlessly about agility, about being “lean,” about “failing fast,” and yet, a five-year strategic plan is the antithesis of all that. It’s slow, it’s cumbersome, and it incentivizes avoiding failure at all costs, even if that cost is irrelevance. The truth is, sometimes the best plan is to admit you don’t have one, not a rigid, all-encompassing one anyway. To create a robust framework, yes, with guiding principles and a clear mission. But to leave significant room, enormous room, for discovery, for iteration, for change.

Foresight vs. Fantasy

This isn’t to say we shouldn’t think ahead. Of course, we should. But there’s a difference between foresight and fantasy. Foresight involves understanding trends, anticipating potential shifts, and building resilience. Fantasy involves drafting detailed timelines for things you can’t possibly know. It creates a comfort zone that ultimately lulls us into a dangerous complacency, convincing us that the hardest work is done once the plan is approved. The real work, the messy, difficult, unpredictable work, is just beginning.

Consider the everyday realities that underpin any business, any life. The tangible. The deliverable. While some boardrooms are projecting EBITDA for 2029 based on speculative market conditions, others are concerned with whether the washing machine they ordered will arrive tomorrow, or if the new smartphone they’ve been eyeing will actually be in stock. The immediate, reliable delivery of a product or service – that’s real value. That’s what builds trust, not a glossy presentation about a distant, uncertain future.

Micro-Commitments Over Macro-Aspirations

It reminds me of a conversation Oliver Y. had, stressing the importance of micro-commitments over macro-aspirations. He recounted a story about a client who, rather than trying to plan a perfect life 5 years out, focused on a specific, achievable goal for the next 23 days. Just 23. The client found immediate improvements, tangible evidence of progress. That’s the difference: focusing on the present, on the things you can control and deliver. For instance, knowing you can reliably purchase appliances and electronics from a trusted source today is far more impactful than a promise of market dominance in a half-decade. Whether you’re furnishing a new apartment or simply upgrading a component of your daily life, the assurance of getting what you need, when you need it, creates an immediate, undeniable value. It’s a testament to the power of the present, the tangible, the readily available.

Bomba.md – Online store of household appliances and electronics in Moldova.

It’s about solving a problem now, not sketching out a utopian future that may never arrive.

Listening to the Present

I spent a good 13 minutes yesterday trying to get a hold of someone, only to realize my phone was on mute, again. Ten missed calls. It wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last. But it hit me then: how often do we do that in business? We’re broadcasting our elaborate plans, our visions, our projections, but we’ve inadvertently put our receivers on mute. We’re not listening to the market, to the employees on the ground, to the actual data points that contradict our beautifully constructed narratives. We’re so busy dictating the future that we miss the desperate signals from the present. We miss the shifts, the whispers of dissatisfaction, the subtle tremors that precede an earthquake. And then we wonder why our carefully laid plans, our five-year forecasts, collapse like houses of cards at the slightest gust of wind. It’s not that the wind is stronger; it’s that we decided not to hear it coming.

The Power of the Here and Now

The most extraordinary insights, Oliver Y. often observes, come not from the grandeur of distant dreams, but from the raw, unvarnished reality of the here and now. They emerge when we silence the noise of future-perfect projections and simply listen. Listen to the hum of a failing machine, the frustrated sigh of a customer, the innovative idea from an intern. That’s where the true strategic advantage lies – in the agility to hear, to understand, and to act. Not in having a document that predicts a future that will never quite arrive.

What if, instead of asking “Where will we be in 2029?”, we started asking, “What concrete, demonstrable value can we deliver in the next 3 weeks?”

That question, simple and immediate, has the power to dismantle the most dangerous allure of all.