My dog Baxter is at it again. As I’ve mentioned before, he’s crazy for vegetables, and he’ll do anything to get to the few gnarled green tomatoes and warty cucumbers in my pathetic garden. Given the opportunity, he’ll even go after the jalapeños. Nothing deters him—not the triple-reinforced plastic fencing, not the gates and makeshift barricades, not even the noxious sprays guaranteed to repel deer and other wildlife.
We could all take a page from Baxter’s book. I’d call it The Little Dog that Could. Watching him case the perimeter in search of a breach in the fortifications, I imagine him saying, “I think I can, I think I can, I KNOW I can!” until he breaks through, triumphant, and scarfs as much produce as he can before I drag him out by the collar.
Even when he snatches the only ripening tomato off the vine, I can’t help but admire his tenacity. Call it the unbridled optimism of the simple-minded, if you will, but I choose to see it as sheer determination. He never gives up.
Unlike Baxter, many of us humans tend to get discouraged when obstacles stand in our way. I’ve seen lots of recent college graduates (my own daughter included) who want to throw in the towel after ten, twenty, or fifty job applications meet with rejection—or worse, get no response at all. Of course it’s profoundly disheartening for a former academic superstar to find herself unemployed with no clear prospects for the future. But summoning the wherewithal to keep plugging away with no immediate rewards in sight is a life skill worth cultivating—and one with the potential to yield a far greater payoff than any entry-level job.
Being a dog has its advantages. I doubt Baxter has to deal with a running stream of self-defeating thoughts telling him he’s not smart enough or strong enough or young enough or canine enough to break through the fence. He’s surely not predicting he’ll never eat another tomato again. He just keeps digging and scratching away. Even getting his head stuck in the plastic netting hasn’t scared him off. He was back at it the very next day.
Yesterday I harvested the first tomatoes from my garden. I’m planning to enjoy them tonight with a drizzle of olive oil, a sprinkle of sea salt, and a handful of my own homegrown basil.
And I’ll be sharing a few bites with Baxter.
In my last post I came clean about my word game addiction. I’m pleased to say I’ve taken steps to detox, and although I still have some work to do, I’ve made progress. I’ve been road-testing some research-proven techniques for habit change and have found a few particularly helpful.
1. Doing a cost-benefit analysis of the habit I wanted to change boosted my motivation at the outset and has gotten me back on track when I’ve slipped. Writing down the costs and benefits is critical even if you think you’re fully aware of them. In a moment of weakness, it’s too easy to rationalize away the costs. Having them in front of you in black and white, to review when your resolve falters, not only can strengthen your determination but also can help you delay the impulse to give into temptation, allowing the urge time to dissipate.
Don’t be too quick to downplay the benefits of a bad habit or even an addiction—the rewards keep a behavior going. Most of the benefits I listed are common to most self-soothing activities that backfire when done to excess, such as eating or drinking: they’re fun, pass time, and are relaxing.Two additional positive aspects of playing word games make it unlikely I’ll relinquish them completely: they’re mentally challenging and build brain power.
On the cost side, I came up with the following: they give me headaches, cause me to lose sleep, detract from more productive pursuits, interfere with conversation, make me feel guilty for wasting time, and annoy my husband.
So I set a goal I thought would be reasonable and achievable: to limit the time I spend playing word games and make the activity a conscious choice I can control rather than a mindless time-filler.
2. Tracking the habit provided me with useful, albeit disturbing, information about it. I could easily fool myself into believing my game-playing wasn’t excessive until I started recording the time. Twenty or thirty minutes? Think again. The first day I logged an appalling two hours—five minutes here and ten minutes there can add up before you know it. The next day, motivated by embarrassment at my sloth, I cut my time in half.
3. Identifying the triggers, both external and internal, helped keep me from mindlessly clicking on Word Scramble. The kitchen table is a bad place for me to sit after dinner because that’s where I usually play (and snack—another mindless habit I’d like to break). Also, I’m tired at night and have depleted my daily store of willpower, so I’m more apt to succumb to habits without thinking.
4. Building willpower daily by doing one or two brief exercises to practice initiating activities and resisting impulses gave me another boost. Think of willpower as a muscle you need to exercise. I applied a strategy drawn from the social psychology research. A substantial body of evidence shows that consistently practicing self-control exercises—even small, arbitrary ones such as throwing away the junk mail or refraining from swearing—can help develop the willpower you’ll need for bigger challenges.
I chose a task I hate doing but takes less than five minutes: brushing my dog Freddie. He hates it, too, so I always put it off until he’s badly matted. Now every day when we come in from our walk—while he’s still on the leash and can’t run away from me—I spend a few minutes grooming him. I still feel a powerful urge to forego the brief ordeal, especially when I’m pressed for time, but I’ve managed to do it anyway.
Being able to “do it anyway” is the key here. If you can remind yourself that not wanting to tackle a chore is just a feeling you can push through, you’ll be in better shape to resist those willpower-depleting urges.
(For more on the subject of willpower and lots of useful tips on how to cultivate it, check out The Willpower Instinct by psychologist Kelly McGonigal, PhD.)
5. Finding a substitute that is equally satisfying but more easily contained also helps. I’m not talking about eating a 60-calorie Fudgsicle when you’re really craving a piece of chocolate triple layer cake. That trick never worked for me. But replacing Word Scramble with a page-turner detective novel really fit the bill. The book served equally well if not better as a way to relax and put off doing chores—so effectively, in fact, that I spent an entire Saturday reading and getting nothing else done.
My son, who was also hooked on Word Scramble thanks to me, found another way to break his habit. He beat the game so many times—scoring over 2000 points and causing the app repeatedly to shut down—he no longer found it at all challenging. He was done.
But I’m not likely to outplay the game any time soon. So I’ll just have to keep plugging away, building my willpower one small step at a time.
Have you ever noticed how many self-improvement plans involve numbers? Here’s what I mean:
These are all real books. Some have been blockbuster bestsellers; others, well . . .
Now I’ll offer my own temporal tip. You can get motivated and make up for the hour lost to the return of Daylight Savings Time this weekend in ONE SECOND OR LESS by following my One-Second Plan A or my No-Seconds Plan B. Both are effective, but Plan B is faster.
Plan A: Turn off the computer.
Plan B: Don’t turn on the computer.
Sound too good to be true? If you doubt me, test it out for yourself. I tried Plan B a few weeks ago when I had company coming and needed to get the house cleaned in a hurry. Instead of letting emails and Facebook status updates swallow up the morning, I dashed around throwing out newspapers, vacuuming up dog hair, fluffing towels, spritzing bathroom fixtures and Swiffering floors. I was done before noon and still had plenty of time to take the dogs out for a long walk and relax with the Sunday crossword before the guests arrived.
In the interest of submitting my technique to rigorous scientific scrutiny, I did a second experiment the following week. I controlled for treatment variables, using Plan A this time. But the results weren’t as favorable due to one critical flaw in my methodology: my directions were ambiguous.
Instead of instructing myself to turn off the computer, I said: Don’t sit down at the computer.
And I didn’t. Instead I stood, hunched over the laptop on the kitchen counter, while I answered “just one” email, then another, then read “just one” blog, then another . . . Until, an hour later, I tore myself away to go fold the pile of clothes on my closet floor. But my back was in such a spasm from my contortions over the keyboard that I couldn’t bend down.
This Sunday I’ll be following the revised version of Plan A.