I recently became the leader of a data science team, which has led me to spend a lot of time thinking about motivation. What motivates me to do good work, regardless of my mood or how I'm feeling on a given day? What will motivate my team? What role can I play to help each person on the team be excited about what they're working on?
On Friday, I happened to start reading Anthony T. Kronman's book Education's End: Why Our Colleges and Universities Have Given Up on the Meaning of Life. In the opening chapter, Kronman lays out some thoughts on the question of "What is living for?", including some ideas on why we find that question strange and even a little unreal. One of his main points is that deep questions about the purpose and meaning of life are far removed from our day-to-day experiences, but quotidian concerns are connected to an ascending hierarchy of commitments that goes all the way up to the meaning of life itself: "I know that even my smallest decisions are hinged on a set of ascending commitments to increasingly important values, each dependent on commitments and values of still greater importance" (20). Although infrequent, small disturbances about relatively trivial matters can cascade into a deep reckoning on whether I'm on the right path in life.
This resonates with me because this is essentially how I departed a previous role to come to the company where I currently work. I worked for the Tennessee Department of Education and frequently traveled across the state visiting school districts. On one such trip, as I drove home from Knoxville, a colleague took a phone call with a friend. Since it was basically impossible not to follow the general thread of the conversation, I could tell that they were talking about some level of dissatisfaction with their current jobs and what that meant to them. My colleagues told his friend, "I only have one life to give for things that matter, and I have to ask myself how many years I want to give to this role where I don't feel like we're making the impact I want to have."
During that time, I was experiencing what I'll call a kind of professional ennui in my role at the state. We were doing a lot of work, but it felt like we were making very minimal impact. I didn't know it at the time, but I was experiencing what David Graeber probably would have called a bull$hit job of the "box checking" variety. Every time I had to fill out an arbitrary form, submit something for "communication review," or ask permission from five people to execute the basic functions of my role, I ended up asking myself, "How many more years do I want to give to this?" Pretty soon, the answer was very obviously "zero".
So what does all this have to do with motivation? I think what I'm driving at is that the day-to-day actions of working in a job ultimately connect to the deeper questions that each of us have to ask ourselves about whether we're leading the lives we envision for ourselves. Am I fulfilling my purpose? Am I living for something bigger than myself? Am I contributing to the world and the larger human narrative in a way that I find satisfying and meaningful?
As a manager, it would be supremely weird for me to ask my team these kinds of questions. I think most people would agree that your supervisor asking whether you're fulfilling your life's purpose would be out of bounds.
What I think is in bounds is showing how I derive meaning and self worth from the work that we get to do as a team. What helps me get up in the morning and remain focused? How do I connect the day-to-day, sometimes mundane tasks before me to a greater calling?
Any job is going to include tasks or aspects that aren't particularly thrilling. What these reflections have shown me is that although we normally just quickly finish those tasks and move on to more interesting things, sometimes minor frustrations or bureaucratic hoop jumping can provoke much more profound interrogation. When that happens, all of us need a path toward a clear answer of how pushing through that frustration or, dare I say, jumping through that hoop moves us closer to living in alignment with the deeper meaning or impact we seek to make. In the absence of that clear line of reasoning, motivation is going to be hard to come by.
On Friday, I happened to start reading Anthony T. Kronman's book Education's End: Why Our Colleges and Universities Have Given Up on the Meaning of Life. In the opening chapter, Kronman lays out some thoughts on the question of "What is living for?", including some ideas on why we find that question strange and even a little unreal. One of his main points is that deep questions about the purpose and meaning of life are far removed from our day-to-day experiences, but quotidian concerns are connected to an ascending hierarchy of commitments that goes all the way up to the meaning of life itself: "I know that even my smallest decisions are hinged on a set of ascending commitments to increasingly important values, each dependent on commitments and values of still greater importance" (20). Although infrequent, small disturbances about relatively trivial matters can cascade into a deep reckoning on whether I'm on the right path in life.
This resonates with me because this is essentially how I departed a previous role to come to the company where I currently work. I worked for the Tennessee Department of Education and frequently traveled across the state visiting school districts. On one such trip, as I drove home from Knoxville, a colleague took a phone call with a friend. Since it was basically impossible not to follow the general thread of the conversation, I could tell that they were talking about some level of dissatisfaction with their current jobs and what that meant to them. My colleagues told his friend, "I only have one life to give for things that matter, and I have to ask myself how many years I want to give to this role where I don't feel like we're making the impact I want to have."
During that time, I was experiencing what I'll call a kind of professional ennui in my role at the state. We were doing a lot of work, but it felt like we were making very minimal impact. I didn't know it at the time, but I was experiencing what David Graeber probably would have called a bull$hit job of the "box checking" variety. Every time I had to fill out an arbitrary form, submit something for "communication review," or ask permission from five people to execute the basic functions of my role, I ended up asking myself, "How many more years do I want to give to this?" Pretty soon, the answer was very obviously "zero".
So what does all this have to do with motivation? I think what I'm driving at is that the day-to-day actions of working in a job ultimately connect to the deeper questions that each of us have to ask ourselves about whether we're leading the lives we envision for ourselves. Am I fulfilling my purpose? Am I living for something bigger than myself? Am I contributing to the world and the larger human narrative in a way that I find satisfying and meaningful?
As a manager, it would be supremely weird for me to ask my team these kinds of questions. I think most people would agree that your supervisor asking whether you're fulfilling your life's purpose would be out of bounds.
What I think is in bounds is showing how I derive meaning and self worth from the work that we get to do as a team. What helps me get up in the morning and remain focused? How do I connect the day-to-day, sometimes mundane tasks before me to a greater calling?
Any job is going to include tasks or aspects that aren't particularly thrilling. What these reflections have shown me is that although we normally just quickly finish those tasks and move on to more interesting things, sometimes minor frustrations or bureaucratic hoop jumping can provoke much more profound interrogation. When that happens, all of us need a path toward a clear answer of how pushing through that frustration or, dare I say, jumping through that hoop moves us closer to living in alignment with the deeper meaning or impact we seek to make. In the absence of that clear line of reasoning, motivation is going to be hard to come by.
Jason Parker