I recently heard a popular media doctor talking on the radio about making dietary and exercise changes to promote optimal health. He gave some sound advice.
“Write down your goals. Think about why you want to lose weight and get more fit.”
So far, so good. But then he added a suggestion which flies in the face of what we psychologists know about behavior change: “Thinking about what you want to avoid is the best way to motivate yourself.” He went on to explain that a family history of diabetes keeps him on the straight and narrow. In other words, he’s motivated by fear.
Maybe this approach works for him ( though given his success, I suspect he’s more disciplined naturally than most of us anyway, so he probably doesn’t need much of a motivational boost). But it’s not the most effective way for most people to stick with a diet or exercise plan.
If scare tactics worked, wouldn’t those gruesome, anti-smoking PSAs impel more smokers to quit? Knowing something isn’t good for us—potentially fatal, even—usually isn’t enough to make us stop.
Thinking about what we want to achieve is much more motivating than envisioning the dire consequences of unhealthy habits. So if you want to get in shape, don’t imagine yourself in ten years, three sizes larger and insulin-dependent. Instead, picture yourself six months from now, crossing the finish line of your first 5K.
If you point yourself in the direction of where you want to go, you’ll get there faster than if you run the other way.
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.
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.