Badwater Ultramarathon: The Ultimate in No Excuses

Overcoming the “I would, but…” response

There must be a universal law prohibiting the discussion of New Year’s Resolutions after the first three weeks of January. By that point, even the most determined of us have lost our resolve and our collective shame renders the subject taboo. Naturally, this means that I decided the best time to discuss my goals for the year was in the middle of summer. For such an extremely data-driven person — there isn’t a product on my desk that didn’t get a 4.5 customer rating or above — it may be surprising that I forgo specific quantifiable resolutions. That is, I don’t outline a certain number of tasks that I need to finish by a certain date. Instead, I like to think of yearly themes. If this sounds a little abstract, and too much like some self-help magazine headline (“The year of holistic harmony”), stick with me. The theory behind a yearly principle is straightforward; it is not the infrequent, large decisions that dictate the course of our lives, but the countless everyday choices we make without a second thought. Where we go to college might matter in the long run, but our options for college were dictated by thousands of smaller decisions leading up to the decisive moment, such as whether or not we decided to study for that extra hour, or if we took the few minutes to fill out a scholarship form. Keeping a yearly theme in mind means we can make these daily decisions not by mere habit, but in the context of a guiding precept.

To give this concept some firm backing, consider some past yearly themes: efficiency: don’t work more, work more effectively; relax: this test, project, game, etc. will not dictate the rest of your life; and failure: accept mistakes as a chance to learn. If the yearly theme is learning from failures rather than trying to avoid them, then we can implement this by being more willing to try new things or take on difficult challenges that carry a chance we won’t succeed. Likewise, a yearly theme of efficiency means I might lock my computer down from every program except Word (or in reality Sublime Text 3 or Microsoft Visual Studio) for 4 hours a day and get all my work done in that period instead of spending 10 hours a day on my computer where half of that time is spent on various distraction-delivery platforms. We don’t need to repeat the mantra over and over, or use it for every single decision — trying to pick out a breakfast cereal that agrees with the theme of relaxation could be a real conundrum — but by keeping an overarching principle in mind, we can subtly influence the everyday decisions that over time determine the course of our lives.

My guiding principle in 2017 is make an effort not an excuse. Late last year, I noticed I had an issue: my default response to being assigned a task was to immediately brainstorm reasons why I couldn’t do it or why someone else would be better suited for it. This occurred for a range of small or large projects both at work and school, and it seriously impaired the quality of my work when I would inevitably suck it up and start working. A prominent manifestation of this attitude occurs in what I have come to call the “I would, but…” response. Like other personal flaws I have discovered, I first noticed this in other people. (This is partly because every teenager is sure that he/she has no failings and is always right. Interestingly, this tendency is most often exhibited in those under 20 and those over 80, who have much more in common than you might think. For example, both groups share a belief that they are great drivers when clearly they should not be allowed on the road). Although I generally don’t like to talk about running — it’s something I do, not the defining facet of my life and I abhor the sense of moral superiority that some people believe exercise gives them— but when I inevitably am asked about hobbies (generally when there can be no more possible talk about the weather) I have to admit that I spend a not-insignificant portion of my free time wearing down my joints. Well over half the time, the response I get begins with “I would be a runner, but…” followed by any number of creative explanations. It was during one of these conversations, when I had stopped paying attention as someone described how they didn’t run because they didn’t like the smell of pine trees along the running trail, I realized I do the exact same thing. Every time when I would be given a task, my mindset immediately went to “I would do that, but…” Furthermore, the reasons I cleverly devised to justify not doing a project were nothing more than excuses, my personal version of the elaborate stories people told me about why they didn’t run.

Much as there is nothing to be gained from someone explaining to me the circumstances why they are not a runner (it doesn’t matter why you don’t run, the only important thing is that you don’t), it wasn’t important why I thought I shouldn’t have to do a project. In the end, I was either going to do it or I wasn’t and starting out with the assumption that a project is not worth my time is one way to ensure that the end result will be less than optimal quality. 80% of the effort I expend on a project seems to be getting started, and I could reduce that significantly if I did not have to convince myself that a project is worthwhile in the first place. Consequently, I decided that 2017 was the perfect time to implement a new attitude. Since “The Year of Avoid the Phrase ‘I Would, But’” won’t fit nicely on a t-shirt (should I ever decide to monetize this idea) I went with the simpler: “make an effort not an excuse”. The implementation of this yearly theme has primarily come in situations in which I find myself starting to utter the dreaded “I would, but…” This principle applies not only to school and work projects, but to almost all of my daily decisions. Several of the “I would, but…” areas I need to work on are general life goals such as “I would volunteer more, but I would rather spend my time getting paid”; or “I would write more, but no one cares what I have to say.” In the first case, I selfishly only consider the value of my time and not those who I could help, and in the second, I shouldn’t be writing for the reaction of others in the first place, I need to write as a way to sort out my own thoughts. Both of these realizations were harsh truths that were there all along, but I had been avoiding acknowledging them by sticking with my default excuse-making reaction. As the year has progressed, I found a number of situations where I was justifying my own failure before I had even begun a task. Moreover, I have noticed other related objectives that complement the central tenet of fewer excuses. The most useful of these has been “don’t complain,” a great policy which not only makes you more productive because you do not have to waste cognitive faculties finding reasons to gripe, but also means you are a nicer person to be around.

The recognition that I had become an “I would, but…” type of person was, as most critical examinations of ourselves tend to be, painful but illuminating. I won’t claim that a yearly theme (it doesn’t even have to be yearly, a weekly or monthly theme is a great start) will “10x your productivity” or transform your life, but the repeated application of a constructive guiding principle can have noticeable effects in work, school, and personal relationships. There will always be successes and failures; this post is evidence that I have convinced myself to write more, while I still wish I volunteered more often. The numbers in the win/loss column are important to quantify the effectiveness of a lifestyle change, but just as critical is that there is always an aspect of our daily routine we are constantly striving to improve. The lack of a finish line with a yearly theme cuts both ways. On the minus side, it means that you can justify any amount of progress, no matter how small, as satisfying the theme, but, on the other hand, it means that you are never fully done and always have chances to do even better. Moreover, if you have a stated goal such as read one book every month, and January passes without you turning a single page, you will probably completely give up and write reading off your to-do list. Conversely, if you have a theme, such as “year of using my free time productively” and you trip up for one or two months, there will still be numerous opportunities every day to get back on track. A yearly theme is more forgiving than a specific goal, which acknowledges the fact that humans fail often but mistakes almost always can be overcome. Eliminating the phrase “I would, but…” has yielded me positive results, not the least of which is I now slow down and think about my response to a new task rather than supplying my stock answer. If I right away begin to consider how I might solve a problem rather than how to avoid the problem, it becomes much easier to find the motivation to just get started. Granted, there are situations in which you do need to justify why you shouldn’t do a task for which you are not suited, and an ability to formulate a rational reason in this circumstance can be invaluable. However, when I look back on my life, the greatest experiences have never begun with the words “I would, but..” Instead, they have started with “Sure, I would love to do that…”