Better Than Before: Mastering the Habits of Our Everyday Lives (4 page)

After I gave a talk about the Four Tendencies, a man asked me, “Which Tendency makes people the happiest?” I was startled, because that obvious question had never crossed my mind. “Also,” he continued, with an equally obvious follow-up question, “which Tendency is the most successful?”

I didn't have a good response, because I'd been so focused on understanding the Tendencies that I'd never considered them in comparison to each other. After much reflection, however, I realized that the answer—as it usually is, which I sometimes find annoying—is “
It depends
.” It depends on how a particular person deals with the upside and downside of a Tendency. The happiest and most successful people are those who have figured out ways to exploit their Tendency to their benefit and, just as important, found ways to counterbalance its limitations.

In an interview in
the Paris Review
, novelist and Rebel John Gardner made an observation that I've never forgotten: “Every time you break the law you pay, and every time you obey the law you pay.” Every action, every habit, has its consequences. Upholders, Questioners, Obligers, and Rebels, all must grapple with the consequences of fitting in that Tendency. I get up at 6:00 every morning, and I pay for that; I get more work done, but I also have to go to sleep early.

We all must pay; but we can
choose
that for which we pay.

Of course, like all over-simple classifications of this type, the dichotomy becomes, if pressed, artificial, scholastic and ultimately absurd. But … like all distinctions which embody any degree of truth, it offers a point of view from which to look and compare, a starting-point for genuine investigation.

—Isaiah Berlin,
The Hedgehog and the Fox

T
he Four Tendencies framework had given me a crucial insight into human nature, but there was much that it didn't illuminate. I couldn't yet turn to the more concrete, action-oriented strategies that I was eager to investigate because I hadn't yet exhausted the possibilities of self-knowledge.

As one of the exercises for the happiness project I undertook a few years ago, I'd identified my twelve “Personal Commandments,” which are the overarching principles by which I want to live my life. My first commandment is to “Be Gretchen”—yet it's very hard to know myself. I get so distracted by the way I wish I were, or the way I assume I am, that I lose sight of what's actually true.

I was slow to understand some of the most basic things about myself. I don't love music. I'm not a big fan of travel. I don't like games, I don't like to shop, I'm not very interested in animals, I like plain food. Why didn't I recognize these aspects of my nature? Partly because I never thought much about it—doesn't everyone love music?—and partly because I expected, based on nothing, that one day I'd outgrow my limitations. I'd learn to love travel, or to appreciate exotic cuisines.

Also, I'd assumed that I was pretty much like everyone else, and that everyone else was pretty much like me. That's true; but our differences are
very important
. And they have a big influence on habit formation. For instance, I kept reading the advice that because our minds are clearest in the morning, we should do our most demanding intellectual work then. I thought I “should” follow this habit, until finally I realized that my own habit—starting my day with an hour of email grunt work—suits me. I need to clear the decks before I can settle down to serious work, and I suspect that if I'd tried to change my habit, I would've failed.

I should tailor my habits to the fundamental aspects of my nature that aren't going to change. It was no use saying “I'll write more every day if I team up with another writer, and we race to see who can finish writing a book faster,” because
I don't like competition
.

To avoid wasting my precious habit-formation energy on dead ends, I need to shape my habits to suit me. For this reason, I developed a list of questions to highlight aspects of my nature that are relevant to habit formation.

They say the world is made up of two types of people: those who love dividing the world into two types of people, and those who don't. I'm clearly in the former category.

Research shows that morning people
, or “Larks,” really do differ from night people, or “Owls.” Most people fit somewhere in between, but the extremes—the two chronotypes as measured by their sleep midpoint—do exist. The two types are more productive and energetic at different points in the day.

I'm a Lark: I go to sleep and wake on the early side. Owls do just the opposite. I used to believe that Owls could become Larks if they made an effort to go to sleep earlier, but research suggests that this attribute is hardwired. Genes play a big role, as does age: young children tend to be Larkish; adolescents tend to be Owls (with a peak at age 19.5 for women and age 21 for men); older adults tend to be Larks.

Interestingly, research suggests that
Larks are likely to be happier
, healthier, and more satisfied with life than Owls—in part, because the world favors Larks. Owls fall asleep later than Larks do, and because work, school, and young children start early, Owls get less sleep, which makes their lives harder.

Larks, Owls, and everyone in between should consider that aspect of their nature when trying to shape a habit. An Owl shouldn't bother trying to form the habit of getting up early to study, and a Lark shouldn't try to fit in two hours of writing after dinner.

Sometimes we may not recognize our own type. A friend told me, “I went on a meditation retreat, where we woke up at four. It was like a switch flipped for me, and my life became so much better. Now I go to bed around 9:00 or 9:30, and I wake up at 4:00. I love it.”

Especially for workplace habits, it's key to distinguish the pace at which people prefer to work. I'm a Marathoner. I like to work at a slow and steady clip, and I dislike deadlines—in fact, I often finish work early. In law school, I had two massive writing requirements to complete by graduation, and I wrote them both by the end of my first year. (Side note: perhaps my eagerness to write big papers was a sign that I wanted to be a writer instead of a lawyer, but that's another issue.) Working on projects steadily, over long periods of time, ignites my creativity.

By contrast, Sprinters prefer to work in quick bursts of intense effort, and they deliberately wait for the pressure of a deadline to sharpen their thinking. A Sprinter told me, “I never prepare a speech until the people are in their seats, and I'm heading to the podium. It drives my staff crazy, but that's when I get my ideas.” Another Sprinter observed: “I prefer to be completely immersed in a project for a short period of time. The work flows better, I can hold my concentration. Spread things out, and the total hours go way up.”

Sprinters and Marathoners usually feel good about their work style, but Procrastinators don't. Procrastinators may resemble Sprinters, because they too tend to finish only when they're against a deadline, but the two types are quite different. Sprinters
choose
to work at the last minute because the pressure of a deadline clarifies their thoughts; Procrastinators hate last-minute pressure and wish they could force themselves to work before the deadline looms. Unlike Sprinters, Procrastinators often agonize about the work they're not doing, which makes it hard for them to do anything fun or meaningful with their time. They may rush around doing busywork as a way to avoid doing what they know they have to do. (It's a Secret of Adulthood: Working is one of the most dangerous forms of procrastination.)

Sprinters call Marathoners “plodding,” and Marathoners call Sprinters “irresponsible,” but there's no right way. Procrastinators, however, are happier when they change their work habits to work more steadily.

Underbuyers hate to shop and buy; overbuyers love to shop and buy. As a confirmed underbuyer, I delay making purchases or buy as little as possible. I scramble to buy items like a winter coat or a bathing suit after the point when I need them. I'm suspicious of buying things with very specific uses—suit bags, hand cream, hair conditioner, rain boots, Kleenex. I often consider buying an item, then decide, “I'll get it some other time” or “Maybe I don't really need it.” Because we underbuyers dislike buying, we often resist buying equipment or services that would help us keep our good habits.

Overbuyers, by contrast, find excuses to buy. They accumulate large quantities of office supplies or kitchen gadgets or travel paraphernalia with the thought “This will probably come in handy someday.” When trying to shape a habit, overbuyers tend to load up on equipment or services that they imagine will help them keep their good habits.

The underbuyer thinks, “I don't need to buy
running
shoes. These old tennis shoes will be fine.” The overbuyer thinks, “I need running shoes, and a spare pair, and a reflector vest, and a pedometer, and a book about avoiding injury.” Knowing our inclination to under- or overbuy can help us identify opportunities to buy, or not buy, to foster our healthy habits. Underbuyers should remember that spending money to support a good habit is worthwhile; overbuyers should remember that mere acquisition isn't enough to establish a good habit.

As an ardent fan of children's literature, I've started three children's literature reading groups. Yes,
three
. (When I started the first group, I truly believed that I was the only adult in New York City who loved children's and YA literature.) At one of our meetings, a friend remarked, “I always want to feel empty,” and another responded, “I always want to feel full.” This was one of the most interesting brief exchanges I'd ever heard. I didn't understand exactly what these two people meant, but it got me thinking about those who love simplicity, and those who love abundance.

Simplicity lovers are attracted by the idea of “less,” of emptiness, bare surfaces and shelves, few choices, a roomy closet. I'm in this camp; I get more pleasure out of shedding things than from acquiring things. I easily feel overwhelmed when there's too much noise, too much stuff, or too much happening at once.

Abundance lovers are attracted by the idea of “more,” of overflow, of addition, of ampleness, of a full pantry. They always want to have more than enough. They like a bit of bustle, and they enjoy collecting things and having a wide array of choices.

Simplicity lovers and abundance lovers thrive in different environments. For instance, a simplicity lover is likely to work better in an office that's quiet, with minimal decoration; the abundance lover in an office that's lively and crammed with visual details. I visited a tech company that had just held a “decorate your team's cubicle pod” contest, and stuff was
everywhere
, even hanging from the ceiling. I'm sure the contest was fun, but I thought to myself, “I could never work here.”

When changing habits, a simplicity lover may be attracted to elimination and simplification—to saving money by cutting off cable TV or quitting online shopping. An abundance lover may be attracted to addition and variety—to making money by starting a freelance career or learning how to invest.

Some people love finishing, and some people love opening—both literally and figuratively. Finishers love the feeling of bringing a project to completion, and they're determined to use the last drop in the shampoo bottle; Openers thrill to the excitement of launching a new project, and find pleasure in opening a fresh tube of toothpaste.

I'm a Finisher; Jamie is an Opener. The other day, I looked inside a kitchen cabinet and saw four bags of granola, all open. When I pointed this out to Jamie and demanded that he not open another bag until those were finished, he just laughed, and for the next few weeks, he amused himself by pretending to open more bags in front of me. As a Finisher, I get a sense of accomplishment when I use the last egg in a carton, and I feel a weird satisfaction when something breaks or wears out. I wondered why I liked to see the stuffing peek out of our sofa, or the hole in an old pair of socks, until I realized that it's my Finisher nature, delighting in the finish.

By contrast, an Opener law professor told me, “I'm constantly starting new articles or writing proposals for new courses. I have a stack of drafts that I've never bothered to polish into finished pieces. Plus I always have several open jars of mustard in the fridge.”

If we know whether we're a Finisher or an Opener, we can shape our habits to suit that preference. For instance, when I was trying to form the habit of blogging regularly, I created one blog, where I post six days a week; when I've posted for the day, I'm finished. An Opener acquaintance has bought more than three hundred URLs, maintains twelve sites, and is always considering launching a new site. That suits his desire for opening. I like my strength-training gym; I lift weights for twenty minutes, then I'm finished; there's not one more thing I can do. Openers might prefer a gym that allows them to rotate through many types of exercise.

Because Finishers focus on their ability to complete, they may be overly cautious about trying to form new habits; Openers may be overly optimistic about their ability to take on additional habits.

Some people love familiarity; some love novelty. I'm definitely in the familiarity camp. I love to reread my favorite books and to watch movies over and over. I eat the same foods, more or less, every day. I like returning to places I've visited before. Other people thrive on doing new things.

For familiarity lovers, a habit becomes easier as it becomes familiar. When I felt intimidated by the library when I started law school, I made myself walk through it a few times each day until I felt comfortable enough to work there. When I started blogging, my unfamiliarity with the mechanics of posting made me dread it. But I forced myself to post every day so that the foreign became familiar, and the difficult became automatic.

Novelty lovers may embrace habits more readily when they seem less … habit-like. A guy told me, “I feel stale when I go to work every day and see the same faces all the time, so once a week I work in a different satellite office, to shake thing up.”

In fact, novelty lovers may do better with a series of short-term activities—thirty-day challenges, for instances—instead of trying to create an enduring, automatic habit. One reader commented, “I love planning routines and planning to create habits as if it's going to work, but the follow-through is rarely there, almost as if I have some inner repulsion to doing the same things in the same way. On the other hand, the buzz I get from trying new things is brilliant.”

In their thought-provoking book
Focus
, researchers Tory Higgins and Heidi Grant Halvorson argue that
people lean toward being “promotion-focused
” or “prevention-focused” in their aims.