Many people are in serious conflict about whether or not they really want to accomplish much. Contemporary life aims them in the direction of accomplishment: they are supposed to choose a profession like doctor, lawyer, accountant, engineer, entrepreneur, banker, writer, or teacher and then make their mark. They have never been told, “Become a lawyer and then do poorly.” Nevertheless, they may receive direct and indirect messages from their parents, teachers, friends and colleagues that they don’t really have what it takes to succeed. Or they may come to that conclusion themselves, reframing their conclusion as “I don’t like competing” or “I don’t want to put in all those hours.”
These conflicting messages, that you ought to succeed and that you don’t have what it takes to succeed, lead to what we see so often nowadays: folks moving from one field to the next, from one degree to the next, from one job to the next, from one dream to the next, from one ambition to the next. They fail to complete things; or they complete them in a slipshod way; or they complete them by virtue of tackling only what they find easy to do. They are vaguely aware of the fact that some inner conflict is slowing them down but not very much aware of the extent to which the conflict is actually derailing them.
Such conflicts—between wanting to write and not feeling imaginative enough to write, between wanting to research some scientific problem but not feeling smart enough—are exacerbated by the fact that what we love about our work are only the parts that we love. We may love writing but not rewriting or selling. We may love getting an innocent defendant off but not helping the guilty ones escape justice. We may love our environmental cause but not the endless fundraising. We may love designing interesting homes but not designing all the bread-and-butter ones. What if what we love about our work is only the top 8% or the top 13%? Then we begin to fantasize about other work where we imagine the percentage is higher.
These conflicts, about whether we really intend to accomplish anything, whether we really love our own interests, and so on, make productive obsessing that much more difficult. First of all, neurons are being stolen in the debate. A conflict is a brain-based battle requiring the participation of neurons, leaving fewer available for large thinking. Second, they serve to burst the bubble of any large neuronal gestalts that manage to form. Some small damaging thought comes along and punctures the beautiful incipient large thought that is trying to gain a foothold. A new productive obsession is only as strong as a soap bubble and, with all those arrows of conflict flying about, one is bound to find the mark and puncture the obsession.
How can you resolve such deep-seated, intractable conflicts? The first step is to acknowledge their reality. The most difficult conflicts are those that remain out of conscious awareness. If your way of dealing with being conflicted about whether or not you really want to play the violin in a symphony orchestra is to sabotage auditions and generate wrist injuries, rather than airing the issue, then you end up with ruined auditions, hurt wrists, and precious little insight. Because it feels so dangerous to air the conflict—what if what you learn indicts your parents or propels you out of music altogether?—you keep silent on the matter and deal with the symptoms and not with the source of the symptoms. Airing the conflict must be braved, even though the consequences may be startling, or else you will always be dealing with symptoms.
Acknowledging the reality of these inner conflicts is step one. Step two is conscious conflict resolution. You name your wishes and your fears, you defuse the fears that ought to be defused and respect those that must be honored, you come to conclusions, and you commit to your decision. This might sound like, “I need to get on the table why it is I sabotage myself at auditions. What am I afraid of? Well, I think it’s two major things. First, I’m afraid that I’m performing only because my parents wanted me to perform. Second, I’m afraid that I don’t love classical music enough to spend a lifetime trying to master it. I think I could deal with the first fear—if it weren’t for the second. I must decide if I want to spend my life playing classical music—if the answer is yes, then I have new commitments to make; if the answer is no, then I have to figure out what to do with myself.”
To learn more about the ideas presented in this blog post, please see two of Dr. Maisel’s titles, Redesign Your Mind: The Breakthrough Program for Real Cognitive Change and Brainstorm: Harnessing the Power of Productive Obsessions
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