why do we assume progress should feel good?
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve achieved something and genuinely felt lasting satisfaction.
I used to think that I was somewhat alone in this feeling, but most people share the view that their achievements often feel, in a way, hollow when accomplished. As with a lot of these things, it turns out that we feel this way (I’m including you, reader, in this ‘we’ on the assumption you understand the feeling I am describing. If not, use your imagination) because of evolutionary necessity.
In order to explain, I would like to introduce you to a concept called the hedonic treadmill. In boring terms, it is the tendency for your brain to regulate your emotions in accordance with what you might wish to call a ‘stable equilibrium’ (though ‘stable’ might be a bit generous in some cases…). Major positive or negative life events lead only to temporary deviations from this emotional baseline, and generally these deviations are of lower intensity, and lower persistence, than the event itself.
The way that I conceptualise the hedonic treadmill is that when a change occurs in your life, for a while that change is something novel. That change is a deviation from your usual conditions, making it notably and worthy an emotional reaction. After a while, that change is no longer novel; it has been incorporated into your life such that it is the new normal, with the consequence being a return to your own emotional baseline.
Intuitively, you understand this. Think of the many great portrayals of the human condition which are rooted in exploration of the notion of the monotony of existence (Hopper’s Nighthawks or Lowell’s Fatigue, to name some favourites).
Much as we might try to convince ourselves otherwise, life tends to be a series of returns to normalcy, except what constitutes our normal changes over time.
So back to my question: why do we assume progress should feel good? Biologically, when we experience progress, this progress becomes our new expectation. This is not a glamorous process, and it certainly does not fill us with constant joy and satisfaction. In fact, we are blind to much of the progress we make simply because of the lack of emotional reaction to it provided by our brains.
A part of me would, as seemingly anyone thinking a thought in this age wishes to do, ascribe at least part of the problem to the increased visibility of the achievements of others through social media: you see someone achieve a goal, post about how great they feel, and assume you should feel a similar way upon accomplishing your own goals. Lesson one here is not to believe everything you see on social media, but lesson two is that others’ achievement has always been visible because it is human nature to make comparisons, and therefore it would be too overly simplistic (and perhaps too conformist) to pin the blame on our phones (even if it is partially deserved).
When, then, is the problem? I find the problem lies less in comparison, or even visibility, and more in the expectations we attach to outcomes themselves. We treat achievements as if they are meant to resolve something; as if they should deliver a lasting emotional conclusion to the effort that preceded them.
The outcome is imagined as a reward, not just materially, but emotionally. We expect it to justify the struggle endured.
Like Sisyphus, we push the boulder upward believing there is a summit that will finally allow us to stop. We imagine a moment where our effort converts into rest, or meaning, or happiness, or some emotional satisfaction. But it doesn’t come; the boulder never disappears.
The mistake we make is thinking of success as something that happens at the end of progress. But success, if it even exists at all (perhaps a topic for another day), exists only in the continuation of progress. There is no final emotional resolution because, in the sentence of human existence, there is no final state.
The brain’s tendency to adapt according to the idea of the hedonic treadmill makes our misunderstanding forgivable. There is an evolutionary advantage in being able to detect changes in our environment, and this occurs best when emotional responses fade: they are not designed to reward permanence.
The expectation that progress will feel good is founded on the expectation of a satisfactory ending to some suffering process. Such an ending was never promised.
Such a nice read