Common perceptions or definitions of motivation vary somewhat, but most are based on the work of Richard Ryan and Edward Deci, the developers of Self-Determination Theory. Self-Determination Theory incorporates the belief that humans have various needs they attempt to satisfy; it associates extrinsic and intrinsic motivation with the levels of needs Abraham Maslow described in his hierarchy, which was itself a misguided theory of motivation.

Oh, well, humanist psychology seemed like a good idea at the time, as I explained last year. But the fact is that people need air, water, food, sleep, shelter, and other people. Anything else is a preference, not a need. Treating preferences as needs trains your brain to focus on detecting threats (the lack or potential lack of something you’ve convinced your brain to perceive as a need) rather than on seeking rewards. That means it’s another impediment to creating transformational change. It’s also a great way to amp up your anxiety.

Ryan and Deci differentiate between intrinsic and extrinsic motivation based on whether you are doing an activity for its inherent satisfaction (your enjoyment of it in the here and now) or for some separable consequence (your potential enjoyment of a future outcome that will or may result from what you’re doing now).

They don’t, however, appear to make much of a distinction between the nature of the outcome (or reward) you are aiming for, as if a cash prize—an extrinsic reward—for  correctly estimating the number of marbles in a jar is no different from the joy you experience—an intrinsic reward—when  you finally master Corcovado on the saxophone after slogging through weeks or months of practice. (As I mentioned last time, although all motivation is intrinsic, rewards can be extrinsic or intrinsic.)

Just as all humans have six needs, we are all intrinsically motivated to do everything we’re currently doing, regardless of how much—or even if—we’re enjoying those activities. The notion that enjoyment in the here and now is a sign of intrinsic motivation is as nonsensical as the notion that we need respect or acknowledgement or appreciation.

Having Walked

I have walked every day for over 2,000 consecutive days. That’s over five and a half years. I always want to have walked. That hasn’t wavered from the first day to the present day. I wanted to have walked yesterday and the 2,000+ plus previous days, but on any given day—in the here and now—I may or may not want to walk.

Fortunately my walking does not depend on my day-to-day or moment-to-moment enjoyment or desire to walk because I always have a desire to have walked. Long ago, the impulse to walk became a habit. It’s part of my mental model, which is entirely intrinsic. When I don’t want to walk, it’s because I want to do something else. That’s how dopamine, aka motivation, works. But I still want to have walked. And I know that tomorrow I will want to have walked today, so I will walk today.

I’ve been a walker at least since I was three years old and set out on my own to check out the unknown lands beyond the block where I lived. But I didn’t make a commitment to daily walking until five and a half years ago. I couldn’t have known that I want to have walked every single day until after I had some experience with walking every single day. I started out with a 30-day commitment, which provided me with the additional information (experience) that resulted in an ongoing commitment.

After doing it for several years, I now know that having walked is extremely satisfying. Furthermore, the experience of having walked every day for the past 2,000+ days is far more persistently satisfying than any individual experience of walking could possibly be!

Having Written

Writing is an even better example. Over the course of several decades, I wrote a lot of fiction. During that time I subscribed to and read many magazines and books aimed at writers and attended classes, workshops, and conferences for writers. “Writer’s block,” something even non-writers have heard of, is addressed in many of those spaces and places. Although, I was never really afflicted by it, I definitely didn’t always want to write.

It’s said that there are two kinds of writers, those who enjoy writing and those who enjoy editing. I fall into the latter category. However, unless you write, there’s nothing to edit. In the case of writing, as in walking, sometimes I wanted to write and sometimes I didn’t, but I always wanted to have written.

The actual experience of writing is described by very many writers as something they go to great lengths to not do. A Google search for “writing is hard” revealed 2,760,000,000 results. One writer said:

I also hate writing when I have better things to do. Doze, eat cheese and crackers, solve easy Sudoku puzzles, shop for books on the Internet, doze some more. I’ve concluded that even some unpleasant chores are less hateable than writing. Cat box cleaning, evacuating the hard drive of viruses, defeating drain clogs. Sometimes I feel like I would trade a writing obligation for a trip to the emergency room for stitches. More than once I’ve promised the gods in their pantheon a year of my life if they would get me out of a writing commitment.

Although this person talks about a writing obligation and a writing commitment, remember that no one forces anyone into becoming a writer and those who do undertake the writing life could certainly find more enjoyable hobbies or easier or more lucrative ways of making a living. But they don’t.

Here’s a post about all the things you have to do before you can begin writing, including:

Patch all the nail holes in your walls.
Deep clean anything. Some ideas: the washing machine, the bathtub, the kitchen counters.
Try a new recipe that requires an ingredient you have to go to the store to find.

No deadline is required; simply being faced with a blank page can get writers to tackle all the household chores they’ve been putting off.

So if the extent to which you enjoy what you’re doing is a signal of intrinsic motivation, then the logical conclusion is that most writers are not intrinsically motivated. And yet the vast majority of people who write are deeply committed to the writing itself rather than to the possibility of fame, wealth, or even publication—which is fortunate because the chances of achieving any of those things are extremely slim. Whether or not they want to write in this moment, they want to have written.

When you consider your future self—tomorrow’s or next week’s or next month’s version of you—ask yourself what that you would want to have done. What would that you be satisfied or joyful or exhilarated by having done? And then try doing that in the here and now.

This is the second of three posts on motivation. The first one is here.