
My Comp I students at Framingham State are working on a project that asks them to explore what it takes to become an expert in a given field. We’ve discussed various theories of expertise: Carol Dweck on growth mindsets, Malcolm Gladwell on the 10,000-hour rule, and Atul Gawande on the learning curve new surgeons face.
Yesterday in class, we watched Ta-Nehisi Coates describe a stressful period in his life when he was pushing himself to reach a creative breakthrough. In the clip, Coates describes the stress of finishing his first book, writing his first article for The Atlantic, and pushing himself beyond his limits as a writer.
Coates’ admission that improving can be stressful–that honing one’s craft takes long work, and sometimes that work will be painful, frustrating, and humbling–made my students pause. What if acquiring expertise isn’t worth the stress and sacrifice?
This, of course, is the million dollar question, so I’m proud of my students for asking it. How do we each define not just expertise, but success, and what are we willing to sacrifice for it?
Is working 80 hours a week to become a CEO by the time you’re 30 “worth it” if it means you don’t have time for family, friends, or activities outside of work? Is working 80 hours a week more bearable if you’re busting your tail to support a family?
What, in other words, are the limits of success? Where do we each draw our own boundaries and set our own limits? What sacrifices are we NOT willing to make to “make it,” and how much of our life are we willing to spend to make a living? Why does so much of the research on expertise focus on the cost–the pain, toil, and long hours of practice–and not the joys that motivate us, the satisfaction we find, and the ultimate rewards?
As soon as one of my students mentioned the need to put limits on how hard we work and how much we pressure ourselves, I thought of Simone Biles and her decision this summer to put her own mental health and physical well-being ahead of her pursuit of yet more Olympic medals. Biles is clearly an expert athlete, and no one can question her work ethic. But even Biles reached a point when she chose to say “enough.”
I suspect my students’ thoughts are shaped by the moment we find ourselves in. In the midst of a global pandemic, is work worth dying for? How much is our own mental and physical well-being worth?
I also suspect the widespread emphasis on sacrifice and toil reflects American capitalism and the Protestant work ethic: heaven forbid we limit our willingness to work, work, work, even at the expense of our own happiness. My students’ willingness to question this–their skepticism about whether the elusive American dream is worth its cost in blood, sweat, and tears–says something about the deep inequities in America today, with many of my students wondering if the rewards of a college degree are worth the load of student debt that comes with it.
We live in interesting times, and I suspect the next generation isn’t as dewy-eyed and idealistic as their parents and grandparents. The old paradigm of toiling for years in the hope of having a comfortable retirement isn’t as alluring as it used to be, and at least some of my students are wondering why they should work for a system that clearly isn’t working for them.