Learning, planning, doing

I've noticed that my work can basically be divided into three areas: learning, planning and doing.

Sometimes, I need to read books, watch videos, do some research, so that I know how to do something.

Other times, I need to plan what I'm going to do.  Before I start writing, I need to think about what I'm going to write.  Make an outline, plan it out, brainstorm, make a list, etc.

Then there's the actual work.  Where I'm writing the piece that's going to get sent out or published or posted. 

While all three components are essential, the actual writing of the piece is the hardest.  That's where all the stakes are.  That's the part that makes the impact.  It's where the risk for failure (or success) lies.

There's always a temptation to spend more time on the learning and planning.  They're safe.  And they're also essential.

The problem is that time is finite.  When I'm learning through reading a book or a report or watching a video, I'm not writing.  When I'm writing about what I'm planning to do and how I want to organize my day, I'm not writing the piece that's going to go out.

Yes, they're all important.  But the learning and planning don't amount to anything unless i actually do something as a result.

Misplaced attachment to metrics

I do this thing called 750 words.  You go on the website and you write.  And every day that you write 750 words, you get some points.  And an X shows up on your scorecard like a strike in bowling.  Every day you write anything at all, you get 1 point.  It shows up like a spare on your score card.  When you get strikes on several days in a row, you get badges.

Well, today, I logged in and I was disappointed to see that I only got a spare for yesterday's writing.  I expected to see a strike because I distinctly remember passing the 750 word mark in my writing yesterday.  Maybe I closed my computer before those last few words were saved or something.  I don't know.

Then I realized is that it doesn't even really matter.  I did the writing.  That's the important part.  I got to process some thoughts.  My mind feels a little less cluttered.  I got a little bit more clarity on a big project. 

Whether or not I get a strike or a spare or whatever the number of points or badges I get for writing is not the point. 

What's interesting is that because this metric is so much more visible and concrete than the clarity and progress I made through writing, my heart actually sank a little when I saw the spare instead of the strike, which I expected. 

It's very silly, actually.  Because the part that really matters is done.  The writing is there.  And I've already extracted the benefit of it. 

Yet, as evidenced by that heart sinking, I see that I've put far more importance to this metric than it deserves.

The pitfalls of perfect

I think I've made this reflection several times, but it keeps coming back.  I clearly haven't learned the lesson yet.

Perfect is the enemy of good.

I have this idea in my head of how I want the blog posts to be.  I want to re-count my Zimbabwe trip in a contiguous series of posts (which at this point is already broken).  And I'm getting to the part that was just so awesome, I don't think any post will do it justice.  So I just leave it.  It doesn't get done.

And because I don't want to post anything else until I post the rest of that trip, nothing else gets done either.  Ideas come and go and nothing is written.  Everything is on hold for this unattainable contiguous ideal in my head that I'm sure doesn't matter to anyone else.

It's ridiculous, really.

So, I'm letting that go.  I may or may not post the rest of the pictures from that trip.  But even if I don't, I'm not going to let that stop me from posting other things.

Phew.  That's better.

The definitive cure

This past week, I attended the Reviving the Islamic Spirit Knowledge Retreat.  There's so much I want to write about it.  But this morning, as I was trying to put something together, I was stuck.  Again.

It's the same wall that I've hit before.  I don't want to write something until I can write it just right.  (I'm just recognizing now the arrogance in that statement -- the assumption that I can and should only write things that are 'just right'.  As if anything else would not be worthy of me.  Ouch.)  Then, if I can't formulate the complete, fully formed thought from the beginning and middle to the end, I don't even start writing.  And I'm stuck.

This reminded me of one of the things we learned in the retreat about purifying and refining the self.  Dr. Abdal Hakim Jackson was teaching from Taj Al Arus by Ibn Ata Illah.  It's a collection of aphorisms regarding refinement of the self.  With regards to fixing bad character traits that one finds in oneself (such as arrogance, for example), there was one line in the book that said:

Do not be like the sick person who says, 
'I will not treat my illness until I find the definitive cure.'

You will not find the definitive cure until you treat your illness.

It's just another reminder to take the step and make the effort -- even if you're not certain that the first step will take you where you want to go.  Because what is certain, is that without taking any steps, you're not going to get anywhere.

Positive deviance

When there's a problem I want to solve, the first thing I do is start analyzing the issue.  I come up with all sorts of theories about the problem and its probable causes.  I can spend ridiculous amounts of time reviewing and analyzing my analysis.  But it doesn't get me any closer to the solution. 

Just knowing that a fixed mindset prevents me from writing doesn't make me more able to write.  That's not to say that this knowledge or awareness is useless.  It's just not enough.  Just wanting to fix something is rarely a sufficient condition to making that change.

What is useful is trying to find incidents of positive deviance.  These are those rare incidents when, instead of things going wrong as usual, things actually go right.  The idea is to learn from those times when things went right and try to replicate them. 

For example, those times when I successfully overcame the paralysis trying to think of something to write, how did I do it?  Or on the days when I woke up early in the morning, how did I do it? (Answers: I used 750words.com to get writing and to wake up early, I slept early.  Sleeping early also requires finding some positive deviance.  One thing I found was that when I exhaust myself during the day, I can't stay up late even if I wanted to).

Positive deviance has been used to fight malnutrition in Vietnam (read more in Switch), Guinea worm in Africa (read more in Influencer) and the spread of infection in hospitals (read more in Better).  With that sort of successful history, it might actually have a chance at helping me write every day and turn myself into a morning person.

Writing and learning

I struggle for hours sometimes, trying to think of something to write.  I don't know why I find it so hard.  It's not for a lack of things to say.  I've got tons on my mind.  I think the problem is that I want to get it right (the first time, of course!).  So, if I don't think I can get it right the first time -- if I can't think through the whole brilliant piece that I want to write from beginning to end -- then I don't even try.  I don't even start.  Not a word is written.  It's ridiculous. 

I think this is my manifestation of the fixed mindset that Carol Dweck writes about.  The fixed mindset says that you are born with as much talent or ability or intelligence as you'll ever have.  So, if you have a fixed mindset, you're afraid of failure because you feel it will be a damning indictment on you -- on your intelligence, on your abilities, on your potential for success.  And you get so afraid of failure, that you don't even try.

The alternative is a growth mindset.  Those with a growth mindset believe that talent, ability and intelligence are built through effort.  They see failure as milestones on the road to success -- as building blocks and learning opportunities.  You need to make mistakes because that's how you learn.

That's what I'm trying to do with in writing every day.  No, not the mistakes, but the learning.  And I know that to learn, I've got to try and practice.  And I'll make mistakes.  But that's how I'm going to learn.

Brain exercise

I mentioned to my friend today that I've found that writing these daily posts has been really beneficial for me.  She asked me why.  I told her it's helped me to know myself better -- to be able to see the patterns and recurring themes in my daily thoughts.

But just this evening, as I struggled to write my daily post while sitting in front of the television, and then struggled again in another room where I could still hear the television in the background, and then finally moved to another room and closed the door so I can hear myself think, I've found another reason.  Writing every day forces me to sit and think and concentrate and stop listening to the noise and stop reading yet another entertaining book or article.  It forces me to think and hear my own thoughts.  And record them.  And arrange them.  And expand on them.  And link them together.  And evaluate them.  So that I can write something and post it.

With so much to learn and read and so many distractions and options for entertainment, it's easy to lose yourself in this feast of information -- to just take in more and more and more.  But just as it's not healthy to simply eat and never exercise, I don't think it's healthy to simply absorb external input into the brain and leave it sitting there.  The brain needs its exercise too.

Listening to the stillness

Just now, as I sat down to write a new blog post, I instinctively started clicking around my web browser, checking different sites, looking for inspiration based on what's going on today.  After a few seconds, I stopped.  I wasn't going to write about the headlines on the Huffington Post.

It's so easy to lose myself in the deluge of information that comes onto this little screen.  Sometimes, I just need to stop.  And listen to the stillness.

A matter of effort

One of the biggest things I learned in graduate school is that, for all but the most trivial of projects, there is a positive correlation between results and efforts.  It seems rather simple, yes, I know.  The more effort you put into something, the better the results are likely to be.

But in all my years of education up until graduate school, this wasn't what I learned from experience.  Maybe the assignments and projects were too easy.  Or I just enjoyed the work so much that I didn't notice that I was putting a lot of effort in to get the results I got.

By the time I got to graduate school, I had made an art of putting the minimum amount of effort into something to get the maximum result.  I saw it as a matter of efficiency. Since efficiency is output over input, reducing the amount of input required to produce a given output increases the efficiency. So, if the grading scheme is such that an A+ is anything between 85%-100%, I would aim for 85% and no more.  I would actually submit assignments, knowing that some of the answers were wrong, calculating that the amount of effort it would take me to get those right wasn't going to impact my letter grade. 

I cringe now, remembering this.

Anyways, unfortunately (or fortunately, when you think of the bigger lesson I learned), this strategy didn't work when it came to research in graduate school.  Unlike school assignments, where you can't get more than an A+, there's no ceiling on the positive result of a research project.  Every week, the brilliant people all around me who were putting their full effort into their research and presenting their results were putting the results of my efficiency strategy in stark relief.  It became clear that holding back on the effort was a flawed strategy.

It took me some time to accept this, though.  Replacing a habit acquired through nearly two decades of life experience isn't going to be instantaneous.  In addition to that, this habit was grounded in a pervasive belief in my schools growing up that if you're really smart, you don't need to try that hard.  Dr. Carol Dweck calls this the fixed mindset.  And it's not helpful.  I needed to acquire the growth mindset, that says that you can effectively make yourself smarter by trying harder.  Or that effort leads to result.

Anyways, inspired by Seth Godin's blog post, I'm going to apply this hard earned lesson and start writing regularly and publicly in my effort to become a better writer.