Can Always Do Better
This message was instilled in me just a few months into my professional career through a senior partner’s response after I hesitantly suggested a revision to a document he had drafted. Joe Allen said, “I have never seen anything that couldn’t be improved.” These words have remained with me and served me well despite occasionally haunting me.
Last summer, I rode a bike up Montserrat, a categorized climb used in one of road cycling’s grand tours, the Vuelta, and completed my goal of climbing a categorized mountain in all three grand tours. Rather than revel in the achievement, I squelched my joy by immediately thinking about how I could have quickened my hideously slow pace. I regretted drinking too much Cava the night before, jet lag, tight shoes, and carrying too little water.
Navy Seals abide by the 40% rule – when you believe you are at the absolute limit of your endurance, you have only used 40% of your capacity – 60% remains. While we may not match a Seal’s superhuman feats, this principle informs us that we have another gear available.
If we can always do better, are we prohibited from enjoying any achievement? Are we settling for less, no matter how far we have pushed ourselves?
Even worse, the could-always-do-better principle can burden a journey with anticipatory dissatisfaction. Two years of writing have proved that no matter how well I write today’s blog post, it will not be as good as next year’s prose. If I believe my writing will continue to improve, I will think no present writing is praiseworthy and must wipe that satisfied look off my face.
Should knowing you will be better in the future deprive you of today’s happiness? Or is that the equivalent of bringing tomorrow’s troubles into today – letting tomorrow’s accomplishments ruin today’s?
The Resolution
When she was eight years old, my granddaughter wrote a story in my writing journal about three little pigs. It was full of misspellings, poor word choices, bad grammar, and horrid punctuation. With expectant eyes, she looked at me, seeking approval. I had to inform her it was barely readable and that she should be able to write something understandable in a couple of years.
Grandma chastised me and said I should evaluate the story based on her present capabilities, not future ones. If I had known this beforehand, it would have saved a lot of hurt feelings and tears but would have deprived us of a remarkable story for this post.1
Remember how happy you were the first time you did something – closing your first deal, finishing your first 5K, or buying your first house. You relished the moment with carefree, childlike joy without regard for what might be.
Today, can you allow yourself to experience first-time joy? Can you remain in the moment and take pleasure in an accomplishment without invoking thoughts of what could have been or will be? Or, have you done it so often that you are emotionally calloused and believe you cannot recapture first-time joy? If so, perhaps you are only using 40% of your emotional capacity.
The Other Side
Desiring continuous improvement is admirable. The desire propels us to produce more and better accomplishments than we initially thought possible. The principle is problematic when it prevents the enjoyment of any present achievement.
Therefore, we should not entirely avoid could-have-done-better thoughts (an impossibility anyway). Rather than allowing them to disappoint and deny joy, use those thoughts to fuel our ambition.
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We can be both pleased with our accomplishments and aspire to do more.
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1Do I need to mention my critique was fictitious? Her story transformed a spiral notebook into a treasure.