Taking a vacation from yourself
How do you measure adventure? (U.S. National Archives)
I don’t remember where I first heard it, but there’s an idea out there that high-achieving people should strive to be a little better every day.
Like a lot of well-meaning life advice, this one sounds all right until you dig deeper.
What does it mean to get better? How do you measure it? Are we supposed to be getting better at everything we do, or one thing at a time? And what happens if you don’t get better?
I’m exhausted just thinking about this standard. Some days, all I can do is maintain where I am. Some days, I backslide in some areas while I advance in others. And some days (or years), I need to take a break from the whole concept of self-improvement and its toxic insistence on the evaluation and measurement of a human life.
I don’t try to get better every day. At any given time, I have projects I’m working on and problems I’m trying to solve. Learning to return a fast serve in tennis. Clearing off the dining table in time for dinner. Determining pricing for next year’s music lessons. It’s not about self-improvement, per se; rather, I enjoy solving problems and getting stuff done. I want to participate in the world and make things happen. It brings me a lot of satisfaction to be productive. However, it is dangerous to have my sense of self-worth wrapped up in that.
My spiritual life brings a more meaningful type of growth, but it’s hard to measure. It’s more like a child’s growth, imperceptible in the moment and only visible in retrospect. I certainly can’t count on it every day. It’s not linear. It’s as though I’m making an investment in some future where the interest compounds at odd and unexpected intervals. It’s none of my business how much “better” I’m getting.
It’s useful to think about getting a little better at something instead of a lot better. Looking for tiny increments of improvement on a specific project can keep us going when we might otherwise give up in frustration. But the belief that we should be improving every day puts unnecessary pressure on us during periods of plateau, retreat, or illness. We all need to take breaks, not just from our work, but from ourselves.
In a given day, I’m tracking progress on a variety of projects. I might also be tracking my time, my nutrition, my exercise, my sleep. And sometimes, I need to let it all go. I need to play hooky from my life and ignore all of the structure I have set up for myself. This might be for fun—an actual vacation—or it might be out of necessity, like in the case of an illness or family emergency. I’m not striving to get better every day—I’m just living, perhaps simply surviving. Such days are no less valuable in my life than the ones where I achieve something.
I’ve become aware of a voice in my head telling me that I need to do more. I could blame it on someone else, but at this point, it’s my own voice. Like a warning siren blaring in a building that’s long since been evacuated, this voice is residual, left over from a period of my life when I thought I needed it. It isn’t helping me. It’s not paying attention to the fact that I’ve already solved the problems that it’s trying to solve. And I am choosing to take a vacation from it.
I don’t need to do more, and I don’t need to get better. I just need to keep doing what I’m doing, following through on my obligations and maintaining my existence. A time may come when I want to add to the list, but that time is not now. It’s perfectly reasonable, like spending a couple of weeks away from the laptop to feel the sand between your toes.
By all means, if it helps you to think about getting a little better every day, hang onto that advice. For me, the “every day” part feels relentless, and “better” is too high a bar. I’ll make things a little better today by doing a load of laundry and a bit of weeding, but I don’t know whether I will personally improve as a person. Furthermore, I make no guarantees about tomorrow or the next day. That’s it’s own kind of progress.
