How Will You Measure Your Life?

WHEN YOU WERE ten years old and someone asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, anything seemed possible. Astronaut. Archaeologist. Fireman. Baseball player. The first female president of the United States. Your answers then were guided simply by what you thought would make you really happy. There were no limits.

There are a determined few who never lose sight of aspiring to do something that’s truly meaningful to them. But for many of us, as the years go by, we allow our dreams to be peeled away. We pick our jobs for the wrong reasons and then we settle for them. We begin to accept that it’s not realistic to do something we truly love for a living.

Too many of us who start down the path of compromise will never make it back. Considering the fact that you’ll likely spend more of your waking hours at your job than in any other part of your life, it’s a compromise that will always eat away at you.

But you need not resign yourself to this fate.

I had been out of college and in the working world for years before I figured out that I could make it back to school to teach and develop a generation of wonderful young people. For a long time, I had no idea that this might be possible. Now there’s nothing I would rather be doing. Every day I think of how fortunate I am.

I want you to be able to experience that feeling—to wake up every morning thinking how lucky you are to be doing what you’re doing. Together, in the next chapters, we’re going to build a strategy for you to do exactly that.

A strategy? At a basic level, a strategy is what you want to achieve and how you will get there. In the business world, this is the result of multiple influences: what a company’s priorities are, how a company responds to opportunities and threats along the way, and how a company allocates its precious resources. These things all continuously combine, to create and evolve a strategy.

You don’t need to think about this for more than a minute, however, before you realize that this same strategy-making process is at work in every one of us as well. We have intentions for our careers. Against those intentions, opportunities and threats emerge that we haven’t anticipated. And how we allocate our resources—our time, talent, and energies—is how we determine the actual strategy of our lives. Occasionally, the actual strategy maps quite closely with what we intended. But often what we actually end up doing is very different from what we set out to do.

The art of managing this, however, is not to simply stomp out anything that was not a part of the original plan. Among those threats and opportunities that we didn’t anticipate, there are almost always better options than were contained in our original plans. The strategist in us needs to figure out what these better things are, and then manage our resources in order to nourish them.

The following chapters are all designed to help you leverage these concepts in answering the question “How can I find happiness in my career?”

The starting point for our journey is a discussion of priorities. These are, in effect, your core decision-making criteria: what’s most important to you in your career? The problem is that what we think matters most in our jobs often does not align with what will really make us happy. Even worse, we don’t notice that gap until it’s too late. To help you avoid this mistake, I want to discuss the best research we have on what truly motivates people.

Following this, I will outline how best to balance our plans to find something that we truly love doing with the opportunities and challenges that we never expected to arise in our lives. While some people will argue that you should always have the next five years of your life planned out, others have followed a strategy of just seeing what has come along and will tell you that it’s worked well for them. There’s a time and a place for both approaches. Drawing on our research, I will explain what the best circumstances are to be deliberate, to have that plan; and when it’s best to be emergent—to be open to the unexpected.

The final element is execution. The only way a strategy can get implemented is if we dedicate resources to it. Good intentions are not enough—you’re not implementing the strategy that you intend if you don’t spend your time, your money, and your talent in a way that is consistent with your intentions. In your life, there are going to be constant demands for your time and attention. How are you going to decide which of those demands gets resources? The trap many people fall into is to allocate their time to whoever screams loudest, and their talent to whatever offers them the fastest reward. That’s a dangerous way to build a strategy.

All of these factors—priorities, balancing plans with opportunities, and allocating your resources—combine to create your strategy. The process is continuous: even as your strategy begins to take shape, you’ll learn new things, and new problems and opportunities will always emerge. They’ll feed back in; the cycle is continuous.

If you can understand and manage this strategy process, you’ll have the best shot at getting it right—of having a career that you will truly love.

Even if you don’t end up getting to be an astronaut.

CHAPTER TWO

What Makes Us Tick

It’s impossible to have a meaningful conversation about happiness without understanding what makes each of us tick. When we find ourselves stuck in unhappy careers—and even unhappy lives—it is often the result of a fundamental misunderstanding of what really motivates us.

The Importance of Getting Motivation Right

When I was running CPS Technologies, a company that I founded with several MIT professors early in my career, I had an epiphany of sorts about what motivates us. One summer Saturday, we had a company picnic for our employees’ families in a park near our laboratories. There was nothing fancy about it, but it was a welcome opportunity to get a three-dimensional perspective of our colleagues’ lives.

I walked to the periphery of the group after everyone had arrived, just to figure out who belonged to whom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Diana, one of our scientists, and her husband, playing with their two children. Diana had a key position in the lab: she was an analytical chemist. Her job was to help the other scientists use our company’s specialized equipment so that they could know what elements were present in the compounds they created or with which they were working. By definition, waiting until the results came back from the tests Diana ran occasionally frustrated some of the twenty or so scientists on the team—each of whom needed his or her test run as the highest priority. But it frustrated Diana even more. She wanted to help everyone, but as a start-up we couldn’t buy unlimited equipment. So there were a limited number of machines and only ten hours in Diana’s workday. As a result, her days were often filled with turf battles.

But that’s not what I saw at that moment. Instead, I was impressed by the love Diana and her husband clearly shared with their two children. Seeing her there, I began to gain a perspective of Diana in the full context of her life. She wasn’t just a scientist. She was a mother and a wife, whose mood, whose happiness, and whose sense of self-worth had a huge impact on her family. I began to think about what it must be like in her house in the morning, as she said good-bye to her family on her way to work.

Then I saw Diana in my mind’s eye as she came home to her family ten hours later, on a day that had gone badly. She felt underappreciated, frustrated, and demeaned; she learned little that was new. In that moment I felt like I saw how her day at work negatively affected the way she interacted in the evening with her husband and their young children.

This vision in my mind then fast-forwarded to the end of another day. On the one hand, she was so engaged by the experiment she was doing that she wanted to stay at work; but on the other, she was so looking forward to spending time with her husband and children that she clearly wanted to be at home. On that day, I saw her driving home with greater self-esteem—feeling that she had learned a lot, having been recognized in a positive way for achieving valuable things, and played a significant role in the success of some important initiatives for several scientists and for the company. I felt like I could see her go into her home at the end of that day with a replenished reservoir of esteem that profoundly affected her interaction with her husband and those two lovely children. And I also knew how she’d feel going into work the next day—motivated and energized.

It was a profound lesson.

Do Incentives Make the World Go Round?

Six years later, as a new professor, I was standing at the front of a Harvard classroom teaching Technology and Operations Management, a required first-year course for all of our MBA students. In the discussion that day about the case study on a big materials company, a student recommended a way to resolve a conflict with one of their most critical customers. She suggested the company assign a key engineer, Bruce Stevens, to this project—in addition to his other responsibilities. I questioned her: “Asking Bruce to do this makes sense in isolation. But getting Bruce to actually make this his highest priority, on top of an overflowing plate of other responsibilities—isn’t that going to be hard?”

“Just give him an incentive,” was her reply.

“Wow—that sure is a simple answer. What kind of incentive do you have in mind?” I asked.

“Just give him a bonus if he gets it done on time,” she responded.

“The problem,” I said, “is that he has other responsibilities on other projects as well. If he focuses on this as his top priority, he’s going to fall behind on those other projects. So then what are you going to do—give him another financial incentive to motivate him to work harder on all the other projects?” I pointed to a statement in the case about Bruce. He was clearly a driven man, who routinely worked seventy-hour weeks.

When the student said that’s exactly what she would do, I pushed her harder. “All the other employees will see that you are giving Bruce a bonus. Aren’t they going to demand that you treat them similarly? And where does this all lead? Do you feel like paying them specifically for every assignment—moving to a piecemeal system?” I pointed out that in the case the typical engineers in this company were working very hard every day without incentives. “They seem to love their work, don’t they?” I asked.

Another student then added, “I don’t think you can pay Bruce an incentive—it’s against the policy of the company. Pay-for-performance bonuses are typically only given to general managers in business units, not to engineers, because it is at the managerial level where revenues and costs come together. Below that, employees have responsibility only for a piece of the puzzle, so incentives can throw things out of balance.”

“Oh,” I said. “Let me understand what you’re saying. In this company, a lot of the senior executives used to be engineers. During that period of their lives, they seemed to be motivated by the work itself. They didn’t need incentives—right? So then what happened? When they became executives, did they morph into other beings—types of people that needed financial incentives to work hard? Is that what you are telling me?”

As the discussion in the class continued that day, I sensed a broadening rift between my world and that of some of my students. In their world, it seemed that incentives made the world go round. And in mine—well, I had worked with Diana and her colleagues.

How could we see something so fundamental in such different ways?

A Better Theory of Motivation

The answer lies in a deep chasm about how the concepts of incentives and motivation relate to each other. There are two broad camps on this question.

Back in 1976, two economists, Michael Jensen and William Meckling, published a paper that has been committed to memory by those in the first camp. The paper, which has been one of the most widely cited of the past three decades, focused on a problem known as agency theory, or incentive theory: why don’t managers always behave in a way that is in the best interest of shareholders? The root cause, as Jensen and Meckling saw it, is that people work in accordance with how you pay them. The takeaway was that you have to align the interests of executives with the interests of shareholders. That way, if the stock goes up, executives are compensated better, and it makes both shareholders and executives happy. Although Jensen and Meckling didn’t specifically argue for huge pay packages, their thinking about what causes executives to focus on some things and not others is financial incentives. Indeed, the drive toward top performance has been widely used as an argument for skyrocketing compensation under the guise of “aligning incentives.”

It is not just my students who have become believers in this theory. Many managers have adopted Jensen and Meckling’s underlying thinking—believing that when you need to convince others that they should do one thing and not another, you just need to pay them to do what you want them to do, when you want them to do it. It’s easy, it’s measurable; in essence, you are able to simply delegate management to a formula. Even parents can default to thinking that external rewards are the most effective way to motivate the behavior they want from their children—for example, offering their children a financial reward as an incentive for every A on a report card.

One of the best ways to probe whether you can trust the advice that a theory is offering you is to look for anomalies—something that the theory cannot explain. Remember our story about birds, feathers, and flight? The early aviators might have seen some warning signs in their rudimentary analysis of flight had they examined what their beliefs or theories could not explain. Ostriches have wings and feathers but can’t fly. Bats have wings but no feathers, and they are great fliers. And flying squirrels have neither wings nor feathers … and they get by.

The problem with principal-agent, or incentives, theory is that there are powerful anomalies that it cannot explain. For example, some of the hardest-working people on the planet are employed in nonprofits and charitable organizations. Some work in the most difficult conditions imaginable—disaster recovery zones, countries gripped by famine and flood. They earn a fraction of what they would if they were in the private sector. Yet it’s rare to hear of managers of nonprofits complaining about getting their staff motivated.

You might dismiss these workers as idealists. But the military attracts remarkable people, too. They commit their lives to serving their country. But they are not doing it for financial compensation. In fact, it’s almost the opposite—working in the military is far from the best-paid job you can take. Yet in many countries, including the United States, the military is considered a highly effective organization. And a lot of people who work in the military get a deep sense of satisfaction from their work.

How, then, do we explain what is motivating them if it’s not money?

Well, there is a second school of thought—often called two-factor theory, or motivation theory—that turns the incentive theory on its head. It acknowledges that you can pay people to want what you want—over and over again. But incentives are not the same as motivation. True motivation is getting people to do something because they want to do it. This type of motivation continues, in good times and in bad.

Frederick Herzberg, probably one of the most incisive writers on the topic of motivation theory, published a breakthrough article in the Harvard Business Review, focusing on exactly this. He was writing for a business audience, but what he discovered about motivation applies equally to us all.

Herzberg notes the common assumption that job satisfaction is one big continuous spectrum—starting with very happy on one end and reaching all the way down to absolutely miserable on the other—is not actually the way the mind works. Instead, satisfaction and dissatisfaction are separate, independent measures. This means, for example, that it’s possible to love your job and hate it at the same time.

Let me explain. This theory distinguishes between two different types of factors: hygiene factors and motivation factors.

On one side of the equation, there are the elements of work that, if not done right, will cause us to be dissatisfied. These are called hygiene factors. Hygiene factors are things like status, compensation, job security, work conditions, company policies, and supervisory practices. It matters, for example, that you don’t have a manager who manipulates you for his own purposes—or who doesn’t hold you accountable for things over which you don’t have responsibility. Bad hygiene causes dissatisfaction. You have to address and fix bad hygiene to ensure that you are not dissatisfied in your work.

Interestingly, Herzberg asserts that compensation is a hygiene factor, not a motivator. As Owen Robbins, a successful CFO and the board member who chaired our compensation committee at CPS Technologies, once counseled me, “Compensation is a death trap. The most you can hope for (as CEO) is to be able to post a list of every employee’s name and salary on the bulletin board, and hear every employee say, ‘I sure wish I were paid more, but darn it, this list is fair.’ Clayton, you might feel like it is easy to manage this company by giving incentives or rewards to people. But if anyone believes that he is working harder but is being paid less than another person, it would be like transplanting cancer into this company.” Compensation is a hygiene factor. You need to get it right. But all you can aspire to is that employees will not be mad at each other and the company because of compensation.

This is an important insight from Herzberg’s research: if you instantly improve the hygiene factors of your job, you’re not going to suddenly love it. At best, you just won’t hate it anymore. The opposite of job dissatisfaction isn’t job satisfaction, but rather an absence of job dissatisfaction. They’re not the same thing at all. It is important to address hygiene factors such as a safe and comfortable working environment, relationship with managers and colleagues, enough money to look after your family—if you don’t have these things, you’ll experience dissatisfaction with your work. But these alone won’t do anything to make you love your job—they will just stop you from hating it.

The Balance of Motivators and Hygiene Factors

So, what are the things that will truly, deeply satisfy us, the factors that will cause us to love our jobs? These are what Herzberg’s research calls motivators. Motivation factors include challenging work, recognition, responsibility, and personal growth. Feelings that you are making a meaningful contribution to work arise from intrinsic conditions of the work itself. Motivation is much less about external prodding or stimulation, and much more about what’s inside of you, and inside of your work.

Hopefully, you’ve had experiences in your life that have satisfied Herzberg’s motivators. If you have, you’ll recognize the difference between that and an experience that merely provides hygiene factors. It might have been a job that emphasized doing work that was truly meaningful to you, that was interesting and challenging, that allowed you to grow professionally, or that provided opportunities to increase your responsibility. Those are the factors that will motivate you—to cause you to love what you’re doing. It’s what I hope my students hold out for, because I know it can make the difference between dreading or being excited to go to work every day.

The lens of Herzberg’s theory gave me real insight into the choices that some of my classmates made in their careers after we graduated. While many of them did find themselves in careers that were highly motivating, my sense was that an unsettling number did not. How is it that people who seem to have the world at their feet end up making deliberate choices that leave them feeling unfulfilled?

Herzberg’s work sheds some light on this. Many of my peers had chosen careers using hygiene factors as the primary criteria; income was often the most important of these. On the surface, they had lots of good reasons to do exactly that. Many people view their education as an investment. You give up good years of your working life, years you would otherwise be making a salary. Compounding that is often the need to take out big loans to finance your time at school, sometimes while supporting young families—as I did. You know exactly how much debt you’ll have the minute you graduate.

Yet it was not lost on me that many of my classmates had initially come to school for very different reasons. They’d written their entrance essays on their hopes for using their education to tackle some of the world’s most vexing social problems or their dreams of becoming entrepreneurs and creating their own businesses.