During the twelve years he was mayor of New York City, from 2001 to 2013, Michael Bloomberg was an indefatigable “social engineer,” always striving to change people’s behavior for the better (at least in his mind). Whether he was banning public smoking or decreeing that all municipal vehicles go hybrid, his objective was always civic self-improvement. Near the end of his third and final term in 2012, he decided to attack the childhood obesity epidemic. He did so by banning sales of sugary soft drinks in quantities greater than sixteen ounces. We can debate the merits of Bloomberg’s idea and the inequities created by some of its loopholes. But we can all agree that reducing childhood obesity is a good thing. In one small way, Bloomberg was trying to alter the environment that tempts people to overconsume sugary drinks. His rationale was unassailable: if consumers—for example, moviegoers—aren’t offered a thirty-two-ounce soft drink for a few pennies more than the sixteen-ounce cup, they’ll buy the smaller version and consume less sugar. He wasn’t stopping people from drinking all the sugary beverage they wanted (they could still buy two sixteen-ounce cups). He was merely putting up a small obstacle to alter people’s behavior—like closing your door so people must knock before interrupting you.
Personally, I didn’t have a dog in this race. (I am not here to judge. My mission is to help people become the person that they want to be, not tell them who that person is.) I watched Bloomberg’s plan unfold purely as an exercise in the richness of our resistance to change. I love New York. The good citizens didn’t disappoint.
People quickly lodged the “nanny state” objection: where does this Bloomberg fellow come off telling me how to live my life? Local politicians objected because they hadn’t been consulted. They hated the mayor’s high-handed methods. The NAACP objected to the mayor’s hypocrisy in targeting soft drinks while cutting phys ed budgets in schools. So-called “mom and pop” store owners objected because the ban exempted convenience stores such as 7-Eleven, which could put the mom-and-pops out of business. Jon Stewart mocked the mayor because the two-hundred-dollar ticket for illegally selling supersize soft drinks was double the fine for selling marijuana.
And so on. In the end, after a barrage of lawsuits, a judge struck down the law for being “arbitrary and capricious.” My point: even when the individual and societal benefits of changing a specific behavior are indisputable, we are geniuses at inventing reasons to avoid change. It is much easier, and more fun, to attack the strategy of the person who’s trying to help than to try to solve the problem.
That genius becomes more acute when it applies to us—when it’s our turn to change how we behave. We fall back on a set of beliefs that trigger denial, resistance, and ultimately self-delusion. They are more pernicious than excuses. An excuse is the handy explanation we offer when we disappoint other people. Not merely convenient, it is often made up on the spot. We don’t exercise because “it’s boring” or we’re “too busy.” We’re late for work because of “traffic” or “an emergency with the kids.” We hurt someone because we “didn’t have a choice.” These excuses, basically variations on “The dog ate my homework,” are so abused it’s a wonder anyone believes us (even when we’re telling the truth).
But what should we call the rationalizations we privately harbor when we disappoint ourselves? Mere “excuse” is somehow inadequate to describe these inner beliefs that represent how we interpret our world. An excuse explains why we fell short of expectations after the fact. Our inner beliefs trigger failure before it happens. They sabotage lasting change by canceling its possibility. We employ these beliefs as articles of faith to justify our inaction and then wish away the result. I call them belief triggers.
1. If I understand, I will do.
Everything that I am going to suggest in this book works. It doesn’t “kind of” work or “sort of” work. It works. My suggestions will help you understand how to close the gap between the “ideal you” and the “real you.” However, this does not mean that you will do it.
People who read my writing sometimes tell me, “It’s common sense. I didn’t read anything here that I don’t already know.” It’s the default critique of most advice books (you may be thinking it right now). My thought is always: “True, but I’ll bet that you read plenty here that you don’t already do.” If you’ve ever been to a seminar or corporate retreat where all attendees agreed on what to do next—and a year later nothing has changed—you know that there’s a difference between understanding and doing. Just because people understand what to do doesn’t ensure that they will actually do it. This belief triggers confusion.
It also pervades the fourteen belief triggers that follow. You may be familiar with them. You may think they don’t apply to you. This is a belief worth questioning, too.
2. I have willpower and won’t give in to temptation.
We deify willpower and self-control, and mock its absence. People who achieve through remarkable willpower are “strong” and “heroic.” People who need help or structure are “weak.” This is crazy—because few of us can accurately gauge or predict our willpower. We not only overestimate it, we chronically underestimate the power of triggers in our environment to lead us astray. Our environment is a magnificent willpower-reduction machine.
In The Odyssey, Homer’s classic work from circa 800 BC, the hero Odysseus faces many perils and tests on his return home from the Trojan War. At one point his ship must pass the Sirens whose haunting voices lure sailors to their death on the rocks near shore. Odysseus wants to hear the Sirens so he puts wax in his men’s ears and ties himself to the ship’s mast so he can safely hear the Sirens’ singing without going mad. He knew willpower alone wasn’t enough to overcome the Sirens’ temptation.
Unlike Odysseus, few of us foresee the challenges we will face. As a result, the willpower we assume when we set a goal rarely measures up to the willpower we display in achieving that goal. Something always comes up to sink our boat. This belief triggers overconfidence.
3. Today is a special day.
When we want to make an excuse for errant behavior, any day can be designated as a “special day.” We yield to impulse and short-term gratification because today is the Super Bowl, or my birthday, or our anniversary, or my day off, or National Cookie Day (December 4 if you don’t already know). Tomorrow is back to normal. We’ll be our usual disciplined self then.
If we really want to change we have to make peace with the fact that we cannot self-exempt every time the calendar offers us a more attractive alternative to our usual day. Excusing our momentary lapses as an outlier event triggers a self-indulgent inconsistency—which is fatal for change. Successful change doesn’t happen overnight. We’re playing a long game, not the short game of instant gratification that our special day provides.
4. “At least I’m better than…”
In a down moment after failure or loss, we tell ourselves, “At least I’m better than _________.” We award ourselves a free pass because we’re not the worst in the world. This is our excuse to take it easy, lowering the bar on our motivation and discipline. Other people have to change more than we do. We’ve triggered a false sense of immunity.
5. I shouldn’t need help and structure.
One of our most dysfunctional beliefs is our contempt for simplicity and structure. We believe that we are above needing structure to help us on seemingly simple tasks. For example, as Dr. Atul Gawande reported in The Checklist Manifesto, central line infections in intensive care units virtually disappear when doctors follow a simple five-point checklist involving rote procedures such as washing hands, cleaning the patient’s skin, and using a sterile dressing after inserting the line. For many years, despite the checklist’s proven success rate, doctors resisted it. After years of medical training, many doctors thought that the constant reminders, especially when delivered by subordinate nurses, were demeaning. The surgeons thought, “I shouldn’t need to use a checklist to remember simple instructions.”
This is a natural response that combines three competing impulses: 1) our contempt for simplicity (only complexity is worthy of our attention); 2) our contempt for instruction and follow-up; and 3) our faith, however unfounded, that we can succeed all by ourselves. In combination these three trigger an unappealing exceptionalism in us. When we presume that we are better than people who need structure and guidance, we lack one of the most crucial ingredients for change: humility.
6. I won’t get tired and my enthusiasm will not fade.
In the morning, when we plan to work long hours and finish our assignment we are not exhausted. We may feel fresh and full of energy. But after we work several hours we become tired and more vulnerable to throwing in the towel. When we plan to achieve our goals, we believe that our energy will not flag and that we will never lose our enthusiasm for the process of change. We seldom recognize that self-control is a limited resource. As we become tired our self-control begins to waver and may eventually disappear. The sheer effort of sticking with the plan triggers depletion.
7. I have all the time in the world.
Here are two opposing beliefs that we simultaneously hold in our minds and mash into one warped view of time: 1) we chronically underestimate the time it takes to get anything done; 2) we believe that time is open-ended and sufficiently spacious for us to get to all our self-improvement goals eventually. (Hah! I’ve been promising myself that this is the year I’ll read War and Peace—and have been promising for forty-three consecutive years.) This faith in time’s infinite patience triggers procrastination. We will start getting better tomorrow. There’s no urgency to do it today.
8. I won’t get distracted and nothing unexpected will occur.
When we make plans for the future, we seldom plan on distractions. We plan as if we are going to live in a perfect world and be left alone to focus on our work. Although this state of being left alone has never happened in the past, we plan as if this nirvana-like world will surely exist in the future. We get down to work without accommodating the fact that life always intrudes to alter our priorities and test our focus.
Earning an undergraduate degree in mathematical economics taught me about the high probability of low-probability events. We don’t plan for low-probability events because, by definition, any one of them is unlikely to occur. Who plans on a flat tire, or accident, or stalled traffic because of an overturned semi on their way to work? And yet the odds of at least one of these events occurring are high. We are all victimized, more frequently than we like, by traffic jams and flat tires and accidents. This belief triggers unrealistic expectations.
(Ironically, as I am typing this on a Sunday afternoon, I have just received an email from a client saying, “I have an emergency at work and need to get your considered opinion. Is there any way that we can talk now?” While the probability of her contacting me for an emergency talk on this particular Sunday afternoon was close to zero [she had never done this before], the probability of some distraction happening on Sunday afternoon is pretty high.)
In my coaching, I usually work with executive clients for eighteen months. I warn each client that the process will take longer than they expect because there will be a crisis. I can’t name the crisis, but it will be legitimate and real—for example, an acquisition, a defection, a major product recall—and it may dramatically extend the time they need to achieve positive change. They cannot predict it, but they should expect it—and it will distract them and slow them down.
9. An epiphany will suddenly change my life.
An epiphany implies that change can arise out of a sudden burst of insight and willpower. It happens, of course. An alcoholic hits rock bottom. A gambler goes broke. A nasty executive is threatened with dismissal. And for a while, each of them sees the light. But more often than not, an epiphany experience triggers magical thinking. I’m skeptical of any “instant conversion experience.” It might produce change in the short run, but nothing meaningful or lasting—because the process is based on impulse rather than strategy, hopes and prayers rather than structure.
10. My change will be permanent and I will never have to worry again.
The Great Western Disease is “I’ll be happy when…” This is our belief that happiness is a static and finite goal, within our grasp when we get that promotion, or buy that house, or find that mate, or whatever. It’s inculcated in us by the most popular story line in contemporary life: there is a person; the person spends money on a product or service; the person is eternally happy. This is called a TV commercial. The average American spends 140,000 hours watching TV commercials. Some brainwashing is inevitable. Is it any wonder that we so casually assume that any positive change we make will change us forever? It’s the same with behavioral change. We set a goal and mistakenly believe that in achieving that goal we will be happy—and that we will never regress. This belief triggers a false sense of permanence.
If only this were true. My research involving more than 86,000 respondents around the world on changing leadership behavior, “Leadership Is a Contact Sport,” paints a different picture. If we don’t follow up, our positive change doesn’t last. It’s the difference between, say, getting in shape and staying in shape—hitting our physical conditioning goals and maintaining them. Even when we get there, we cannot stay there without commitment and discipline. We have to keep going to the gym—forever.
Fairy tales end with “and they lived happily ever after.” That is why they are called fairy tales, not documentaries.
11. My elimination of old problems will not bring on new problems.
Even if we appreciate that no change will provide a permanent solution to our problems, we forget that as we usher an old problem out the door a new problem usually enters. I see this all the time with my successful clients. They all agree that the euphoria of achieving their dream job of CEO vanishes by the second meeting with the board of directors. The old problem of becoming CEO has been replaced by the new problems of being CEO. This belief triggers a fundamental misunderstanding of our future challenges.
Lottery winners are a notorious example here. Who hasn’t imagined the worry-free bliss that comes with sudden riches? And yet, research shows that only two years after winning the lottery, the winners are not that much happier than they were before they collected their checks. The big payday solves their old problems of debt and paying the mortgage and funding their children’s schooling. But new problems immediately appear. Relatives and friends and charities suddenly appear expecting a generous handout. The old problem of a cheap home in a neighborhood with old friends has been replaced with the new problem of an expensive home in a new neighborhood with no friends.
12. My efforts will be fairly rewarded.
From childhood we are brought up to believe that life is supposed to be fair. Our noble efforts and good works will be rewarded. When we are not properly rewarded we feel cheated. Our dashed expectations trigger resentment.
When I coach leaders, I insist that they pursue change because they believe in their hearts that it is the right thing to do. It will help them become a better leader, team member, family member—and by extension improve the lives of the people in their immediate orbit. It will help them live the values that they believe in. If they’re only pursuing change for an external reward (a promotion, more money), I won’t work with them because 1) there are no certainties that we’ll get what we want, 2) if the reward is the only motivator people revert to their old ways, and 3) all I’ve done is help a phony succeed.
Getting better is its own reward. If we do that, we can never feel cheated.
13. No one is paying attention to me.
We believe that we can occasionally lapse back into bad behavior because people aren’t paying close attention. We are practically invisible, triggering a dangerous preference for isolation. Even worse, it’s only half true. While our slow and steady improvement may not be as obvious to others as it is to us, when we revert to our previous behavior, people always notice.
14. If I change I am “inauthentic.”
Many of us have a misguided belief that how we behave today not only defines us but represents our fixed and constant selves, the authentic us forever. If we change, we are somehow not being true to who we really are. This belief triggers stubbornness. We refuse to adapt our behavior to new situations because “it isn’t me.”
For example, it is not uncommon for me to work with an executive who makes comments like, “I am no good at giving positive recognition. That’s just not me.” I then ask these people if they have an incurable genetic disease that is prohibiting them from giving people the recognition that they deserve.
We can change not only our behavior but how we define ourselves. When we put ourselves in a box marked “That’s not me,” we ensure that we’ll never get out of it.
15. I have the wisdom to assess my own behavior.
We are notoriously inaccurate in assessing ourselves. Among the more than 80,000 professionals I’ve asked to rate their performance, 70 percent believe they are in the top 10 percent of their peer group, 82 percent believe that they are in the top fifth, and 98.5 percent place themselves in the top half. If we’re successful, we tend to credit ourselves for our victories and blame our situation or other people for our losses. This belief triggers an impaired sense of objectivity. It convinces us that while other people consistently overrate themselves, our own self-assessment is fair and accurate.
Overconfidence. Stubbornness. Magical thinking. Confusion. Resentment. Procrastination. That’s a lot of heavy baggage to carry on our journey of change.
All these rationalizations, some profound, some silly, still don’t completely answer the larger question, Why don’t we become the person we want to be? Why do we plan to be a better person one day—and then abandon that plan within hours or days?
There is an even larger reason that explains why we don’t make the changes we want to make—greater than the high quality of our excuses or our devotion to our belief triggers. It’s called the environment.