Back to the nineties

178 | Colombo, Sri Lanka | When life was not optimised…

Colombo CBD at sunset

Just now, I was at the Indian embassy, being interviewed for my tourist visa. There were about forty of us waiting, but for how long? We didn't know. Opposite our chairs stood white desks protected by translucent glass screens painted with the Taj Mahal and Indian tigers and the cold mountains of Ladakh. 

Behind the screens, I watched a hive of inactivity. Curiously, I was the only one who appeared to care. (My Western sensibilities waited with me, so I obsessed: will this take one hour or four?) Security had taken our phones, so I was not distracted from the delay. I had forgotten my book. There was no ticketing system; there was no apparent queue. The administrators were in no hurry.

On my side of the glass, the crowd was not frustrated. No one was checking watches, nor asking each other, "How long have you been waiting?" (as I did when I arrived). My reaction was, "Oh crap, this is going to take ages", but it was not a reaction from others. The wait reminded me of the ferry across the Red Sea from Safaga, Egypt, to Duba, Saudi Arabia. We were invited to turn up at 4 pm when the ferry was expected to leave at any time in the following twelve hours(!). It left at 2 am. Nobody was remotely concerned or in a rush. 

In the UK, waiting like this would be unacceptable. We'd repeatedly ask for an update. I'd combust if someone arrived after me but was called up first. I'd check my watch only to make a point. We'd arrange a neat queue if only to join it.

As I sat, prickled by the delay, I was uncomfortable because I could not optimise my time; I could just wait. I realised my inner response was unhealthy. I pondered:

I must be optimising my time because if I’m not growing, I’m dying; if I’m not optimising, I’m wasting my life.

Woah, I wondered, where did that come from?

Then it occurred to me that I’d gone back in time. Nothing in that room indicated that the last few decades had happened at all. The only time-stamp was hearing Robbie Williams’s Angels playing from an adjacent building. Yes, it became clear, I was in the nineties; the room had a tired Lino floor and a ceiling full of asbestos. Bill Clinton was still in the White House, with or without his intern. Perhaps I’d have voted Blair in? I think I would have been collecting CDs and listening to “Any Man of Mine” on my portable. 

The nineties had far fewer distractions. Life was less optimised. And whether I was ‘growing’ or not, it didn’t matter; I was living. 

So what changed?

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In 2006 Carol Dwek published Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. In it, she defines the difference between a fixed and a growth mindset. It was based on research published at the turn of the millennium. In her book, Dwek asks questions to explain her concept,

“Why waste time proving over and over how great you are, when you could be getting better? Why hide deficiencies instead of overcoming them? Why look for friends or partners who will just shore up your self-esteem instead of ones who will also challenge you to grow? And why seek out the tried and true, instead of experiences that will stretch you? The passion for stretching yourself and sticking to it, even (or especially) when it’s not going well, is the hallmark of the growth mindset. This is the mindset that allows people to thrive during some of the most challenging times in their lives.”

I almost agree with her. (Though her research was later challenged¹). The problem is that obsession with growth creates a deep dissatisfaction with the present. Consequently, Growth Mindset thinking has affected me and everyone I know (especially those in tech). It turns out that just having the space to grow suggests we must grow, or else we won’t fulfil our potential. This idea is infectious, and we discover everything can be grown, even if it shouldn’t.

This idea of a growth mindset spread like wet rot into our culture. As with many evil ideas, it sounds innocuous and even quite helpful. However, without questioning it, we become like manic gardeners fertilising our driveway and pouring pesticides onto the lawn.

First, we began optimising our output at work. This is sensible as it increases our income. In the nineties, there were fewer stories of growth to read and no platforms on which to grow: There was less pressure. A decade later, having more followers was hardly an option and when it was, we could leave them on our desktops. We would go for a walk and not post about it. Think of all of the excess attention we had.

Then, personal brands became essential; we started to identify with work. Work leaked into life, and we began to optimise how we consume our free time. Our friends became followers on our socials, and we gathered thousands of them. Soon after, all our actions felt like they must be optimised and lead to personal or professional growth. The outcome began to take precedence over the journey. 

In many cases, we have become the product.

The roots dig still deeper: Relationships succeed when two people grow... until one partner ‘outgrows’ the other. Can you imagine your grandparents outgrowing one another? 

A hobby, once innocent and done for joy on alternate Saturday afternoons, becomes a chore. You catch yourself A/B testing Instagram reels of the clay pots you made, selling them on Etsy, and ordering a thousand wholesale from China, which you finish with blistered hands. One day, you realise you’ve moved to Malta for tax efficiency.

Great art was not created to build an audience but for the sake of art itself. Great art is always at the frontier of the unbelievable, an outpouring from the artist’s heart and not from a desire for popularity.

Needing to grow implies that ‘now’ is insufficient. Whenever I consider growing my writing (my favourite creative vice), I lose the joy of it: I become less honest. Rather than exploring an idea, I obsess about the residue, the published piece. The fun of it dims in the fog of growth.

The present is for savouring, not for consumption. We can enjoy it for what it is, as we would have done in the nineties.

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Live well

Hector

PS. I am no longer going to be posting only on Sundays, but when inspiration strikes <3 As always, thanks for subscribing and supporting x

1. One scientist discovered that a "Growth mindset doesn't really make much difference for student learning [and] programs designed to enhance growth mindset have little meaningful effect." Another critic noted: "If your effect is so fragile that it can only be reproduced [under strictly controlled conditions], then why do you think it can be reproduced by schoolteachers?"