You can't always trust the feeling

You might feel very cold when you get out of the water, but the temperature hasn’t changed. Image by Daniel Perrig)

Sometimes, on a typical day when the The Little Middle School is in session, we’ll split the group: Whoever would like to go to the park can do so, and whoever wishes to stay and work can do that.

Inevitably, the park-going children are exuberantly loud when they return unless we take a moment to help them recalibrate before reentering the building. They’re still using outside voices and taking up a lot of space. The kids who stayed to work will look up in dismay and shush their noisy, boisterous counterparts. They had settled into the zone, and they find the disruption jarring.

It’s a funny thing that our self-perceptions cannot always be trusted. If you’ve ever started up your car only to be surprised by the volume at which you were previously listening to your stereo, you know what I’m talking about.

We struggle to objectively regulate speed, volume, pressure, and so on. Our impression of relative difficulty, effort, or intensity cannot be relied upon from day to day or even from hour to hour. Our perceptions change relative to our surroundings, circumstances, and moods. If we can expect this phenomenon and plan for it, we will be more effective in our endeavors and will experience less frustration.

We can begin by making use of tools that help us measure our performance. Without a speedometer, I’d have a hard time on particular a stretch of U.S. Route One that requires the driver to go from 55 mph to 25. Blithely cruising along at the higher speed, I’m like the kids coming in from the park. It feels “right” to go that fast after having maintained that speed for some time. The slower speed feels unnaturally slow, and I have to keep a close eye on my speedometer in order to stay there.

Likewise, fitness watches can help runners find the exact pace necessary for a training run. If I’m setting out to run ten miles, my pace should be slower than if I were planning to run three. Without a device, I’m just guessing — and my guess may be influenced by how much I slept, what I had for breakfast, the weather, or a lively argument I’ve just had. If I don’t want to be exhausted at mile seven, I’ve got to get the pace right. To do that, I’ll need an objective device.

Metronomes, alarm clocks, scales, thermometers, barometers, heart rate monitors — we use these tools to measure what we can. But what about what we can’t measure?

On a recent episode of The Tim Ferriss Show featuring Seth Godin, Tim asked Seth a question about how he can determine what is good enough to publish. Seth kindly said, “As talented as you are at so many things, this might not be your best skill — knowing when it’s ready to publish.” Tim laughed upon hearing the truth.

Many of us have this problem. We don’t know how to accurately assess where we are, so we either give up on doing the thing or forge ahead blindly. Neither extreme is likely to get us where we want to go, however. We can find a middle ground by stopping periodically to evaluate our results using whatever benchmarks or comparisons we can. However, we must recognize when we don’t have the necessary data to be objective. That’s where we can seek the help of others to guide us.

If, like Tim, you tend to believe there is a benchmark for “good enough” and you are generally on the wrong side of it, it can be very helpful to have the support to persevere. And if, like me, you tend to zip along saying yes to every idea, it’s great to have someone to question you. That way, you’re neither immobilized by impossibly high standards nor spread thin by standards that are too low.

When we can’t trust our own perceptions, it’s inevitable that we’ll get stuff wrong. This doesn’t have to be demoralizing if expect it and plan for it. We can even learn from it. It can constitute helpful data that we can use for next time.

That said, where I find this understanding of inaccurate perceptions most helpful is in the midst of the creative process. If I’m feeling bored or tired or disengaged when doing creative work, that doesn’t automatically mean that it’s time to quit. It’s awfully tempting to seek relief in the form of distractions or entertainment when I’m doing something hard, and that will definitely feel better in the moment. But I can’t always trust the feeling. It’s best for me to keep going until I reach a predetermined stopping point, not one that depends on my mood. And if I do that day after day, I’ve built a habit that I can rely on no matter how I’m feeling in a given session.

Sometimes the work will feel grueling; sometimes, it’s a cakewalk. Sometimes we look at the clock and can’t believe an hour has passed; other times, nine minutes takes ninety. If we keep showing up to put the effort in no matter what, however we might measure that effort, then maybe we can overcome the limitations of our sensory experience in order to reliably get stuff done.

Will it be our best work? Will it be work we’re proud of? Well, that’s a matter of opinion. I recommend paying it little mind.