I had an epiphany, recently, about why I have such a strong, negative reaction to so many self-help books. As soon as I see someone has a system, method, numbered-step process or nicely crafted pie chart showing how to make life better, I instinctively feel myself pushing as far away from the concept as I can get. “It’s not that simple!!” a voice in my head screams.
But then, being the critical thinker that I am, I try to see the other side. Well, maybe some people understand concepts better in pie charts. And, I ask myself, are the elements in all those systems and processes inherently bad? Not necessarily. They’re often fine ideas, even if they’re not as original as some authors purport them to be. So I’ve always thought my objection must be just the way those books oversimplify human behavior and growth.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I read a retrospective critique of the best-selling book Emotional Intelligence, which was first published 25 years ago. The review, written by an associate professor at Oxford named Merve Emre, is well worth reading. But the sentence that particularly caught my attention was the way she described one of the problems she had with the book. She concluded, “This failing is inherent in the self-help genre, whose premise is that the capacity for change always lies within ourselves.”
A big, bright light bulb suddenly went off in my head. Yes! That was it! That was my problem with the methods, systems, and pie charts! It wasn’t just that they were too tidy. It was the underlying premise that if a reader or listener simply followed those systems, multi-step methods, or neat pie-chart diagrams, they would get the prize that was promised. Success. Happiness. Power. Effectiveness.
And the world just doesn’t work that way.
The truth is, there are many elements, events, and factors in life and the world that we do not control. That’s the awfulness and wonderfulness of it all. Awful, because even on a good day, we only hold half the cards. But also wonderful, because that means that how things turn out isn’t necessarily a judgment on us. And that can help lift the burden of guilt and stress too many of us carry.
To be clear: I’m not advocating taking a lazy or passive approach to our lives because, well, we don’t control what happens, so why bother? There are still things we do control, and doing our best to be mature, grounded, and self-aware individuals, while building strong bonds with others, absolutely makes us stronger and happier people, no matter what life throws at us.
I’m just saying that even our best efforts don’t always lead to the outcomes we want, no matter what we do. Environment, good or bad bosses and colleagues, physical illness, accidents, unexpected events in nature or our lives, tragedy, good or bad luck, coincidence, injustice, or systemic discrimination all play a part in how our lives turn out. We don’t want to believe that, but it’s true. We can do our best to see and understand the dynamics at play in any given situation, build as strong a hand as we can, and play the cards we do hold as best we’re able. We can try to influence outcomes. But we don’t control them. No matter what system, method, or pie chart we follow.
It’s a lesson I learned in a three-day river kayaking course I once took, although I don’t think I realized what a big life lesson I was learning at the time. Kayaking successfully through river rapids takes skill, effort, and focus. River kayaks are inherently unstable, because they need to be highly maneuverable. So if you lay back and do nothing, the roiling currents will quickly flip you upside down, and you’ll find yourself flailing about, getting your head banged repeatedly against some underwater rock. The only way to have any steering control is to move (read: paddle) faster than the current is moving. That way, you can influence the line your kayak will take: this side or that side of that big rock; the east or west side of the river. But you still can’t guarantee the outcome. The best you can do is to try to navigate a viable path through all the currents you don’t control. If you attempt to push too hard against the current, you will lose (and end up, once again, upside down, with your head banging against a rock). And even if you do everything “right,” you can still get caught by some unexpected twist or force and end up upside down.
A smart kayaker understands this truth, going in. So their training focuses on three things: 1) understanding the currents in a river rapid, to help them make better navigational choices; 2) building their core abilities and strength, to give them a good basis for handling what’s going to be thrown at them, and—most importantly—3) learning how to recover from being flipped upside down.
The same is true for anyone trying to navigate the river of life. We can work to see and understand the dynamics, forces, and hazards we’re facing, so we can avoid some of the hazards and steer toward more productive paths. We can strengthen our self-knowledge and awareness, so we’re better equipped to handle the challenges we’re going to face. And by strengthening that knowledge of who we are and what matters most to us, we can make ourselves more resilient; more capable of righting our ship whenever it wobbles or capsizes. We can work to strengthen ourselves, so we can influence and handle the unpredictable outcomes and events of life. But we can’t actually control what those outcomes are.
Why don’t more self-help books take that approach? I posed that question to my nephew, who’s studying for a doctorate in sociology. “You know,” he said, “I think the people who are drawn to those books and systems are people who don’t feel as if they have control in their lives. So the promise of control, even if it’s a fantasy, is the aspect of it that appeals to them.”
Another “aha” lightbulb lit up in my head. Because I think he may be right. It’s entirely possible that the reason all those high-promise books are so popular isn’t the specific goal they’re promoting (success, happiness, romance, performance, etc.). It’s the idea and promise of control. Even if it’s a wishful fantasy. Maybe because it’s a wishful fantasy.
I get the appeal of wishful thinking. Of happy ever after guarantees. I wish I could have a way to insure that my life worked out the way I want it to, and that I could keep those I love safe. But then I think back, not only to my time kayaking river rapids, but also to the time, soon after I started dating the man who would become my husband, when my mom received a grim and potentially life-threatening medical diagnosis. When we got the news, Ed took my hands, made me look at him, and gently said, “Hey. I can’t promise you that it’s going to work out okay. But I promise you that we will we get through this. Together.” I think maybe that’s why I married him. Because he understood that true strength comes not from wishful thinking, or promises of control, but from building the inner strength and relationships we need to get through the challenges of our lives.
You can’t build those relationships or that kind of strength, maturity and grounded orientation easily or in three simple steps. And you can’t simplify the process into a neat and orderly pie chart. Which means it’s a harder concept to sell. But you know, nothing worthwhile ever comes easy. That’s the real truth. And here’s what I can promise: even if we can’t control the outcomes, doing the work of building that self-awareness, inner strength, and strong, authentic relationships is some of the most important and worthwhile work any of us can do.
