This theory suggests how we can help ourselves and others strengthen our internal locus of control. We should reward initiative, congratulate people for self-motivation, celebrate when an infant wants to feed herself. We should applaud a child who shows defiant, self-righteous stubbornness and reward a student who finds a way to get things done by working around the rules.
This is easier in theory, of course, than practice. We all applaud self-motivation until a toddler won’t put on his shoes, an aged parent is ripping a dresser out of the wall, or a teenager ignores the rules. But that’s how an internal locus of control becomes stronger. That’s how our mind learns and remembers how good it feels to be in control. And unless we practice self-determination and give ourselves emotional rewards for subversive assertiveness, our capacity for self-motivation can fade.
What’s more, we need to prove to ourselves that our choices are meaningful. When we start a new task, or confront an unpleasant chore, we should take a moment to ask ourselves “why.” Why are we forcing ourselves to climb up this hill? Why are we pushing ourselves to walk away from the television? Why is it so important to return that email or deal with a coworker whose requests seem so unimportant?
Once we start asking why, those small tasks become pieces of a larger constellation of meaningful projects, goals, and values. We start to recognize how small chores can have outsized emotional rewards, because they prove to ourselves that we are making meaningful choices, that we are genuinely in control of our own lives. That’s when self-motivation flourishes: when we realize that replying to an email or helping a coworker, on its own, might be relatively unimportant. But it is part of a bigger project that we believe in, that we want to achieve, that we have chosen to do. Self-motivation, in other words, is a choice we make because it is part of something bigger and more emotionally rewarding than the immediate task that needs doing.
In 2010, twenty-two years after her South American vacation with Robert, Viola was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It took two years for the disease to consume her. At every step, Robert was there, helping her out of bed in the morning and reminding her to take her medications at night. He asked her questions to distract her from the pain and fed her when she became feeble. When Viola finally passed, Robert sat by her empty bed for days. His children, worried he was slipping back into apathy, suggested another visit with the neurologist in New Orleans. Perhaps the doctor would recommend something to forestall his listlessness from returning.
No, Robert replied. It wasn’t apathy keeping him indoors. He just needed some time to reflect on sixty-two years of marriage. Viola had helped Robert build a life—and then, when everything had slipped from his grasp, she helped him rebuild it again. He just wanted to honor that by pausing for a few days, he told his kids. A week later, he left the house and came over for brunch. Afterward, he babysat his grandchildren. Robert passed away twenty-four months later, in 2014. He was active, his obituary noted, until the end.
TEAMS
Psychological Safety at Google and Saturday Night Live
Julia Rozovsky was twenty-five years old and uncertain what to do with her life when she decided it was time for a change. She was a Tufts graduate with a bachelor’s degree in math and economics who had previously worked at a consulting firm, which she found unfulfilling. Then she had become a researcher for two professors at Harvard, which was fun but not a long-term career.
Maybe, she thought, she belonged in a big corporation. Or perhaps she ought to become an academic. Or maybe she should join a tech start-up. It was all very confusing to her. So she picked the option that meant she didn’t have to decide: She applied to business schools, and was accepted to start at the Yale School of Management in 2010.
She showed up in New Haven ready to bond with her classmates and, like all new students, was assigned to a study group. This group, she figured, would be an important part of her education. They would become close friends and learn together, debate important issues, and discover, with each other’s help, who they were meant to be.
Study groups are a rite of passage at most MBA programs, a way for students to practice working in teams. At Yale, “each study group shares the same class schedule and collaborates on each group assignment,” one of the school’s websites explained. “Study groups have been carefully constructed to bring together students with diverse backgrounds, both professionally and culturally.” Each day during lunch or after dinner, Julia and the four other members of her study group would gather to discuss homework and compare spreadsheets, strategize for upcoming exams, and trade lecture notes. Truth be told, her group wasn’t all that diverse. Two of them had been management consultants, like Julia. Another had worked at a start-up. They were all smart and curious and outgoing. Their similarities, she hoped, would make it easy for them to bond. “There are lots of people who say some of their best business school friends come from their study groups,” said Julia. “But it wasn’t like that for me.”
Almost from the start, study group felt like a daily dose of stress. “I never felt completely relaxed,” she told me. “I always felt like I had to prove myself.” Dynamics quickly emerged that put her on edge. Everyone wanted to show they were leaders, and so when teachers issued study group assignments, there were subtle tussles over who was in charge. “People would try to show authority by speaking louder, or talking over each other,” Julia said. When it came to divvying up tasks for projects, one group member would sometimes preemptively assign roles, and then the others would critique those assignments, and then someone else would claim authority over some part of the project, and then everyone else would rush to grab their own piece. “Maybe it was my own insecurities, but I always felt like I had to be careful not to make mistakes around them,” said Julia. “People were critical of each other, but they would play it off like they were making a joke, and so the group was kind of passive-aggressive.
“I was looking forward to making friends with my group,” she said. “It really bummed me out that we didn’t gel.”
So Julia started looking for other groups to join, other ways to connect with classmates. One person mentioned that some students were putting together a team to participate in “case competitions,” in which business school students proposed innovative solutions to real-world business problems. Teams would receive a case study, spend a few weeks writing a business plan, and then submit it to high-profile executives and professors who picked the winner. Companies sponsored these contests and there were cash prizes as well as, sometimes, jobs that came out of the competitions. Julia signed up.