Another bull's-eye. I cannot count the times I've been defeated, humiliated, or physically injured immediately after saying the words, "Hey, how hard can it be?" But that never seems to stop me from saying them again.
"Now," Kathy went on, "Katie's not a Quick Start. She's a Fact Finder. Before she starts a task, she needs to know all about it. She needs to go through the instructions and analyze them for flaws, then get more information to fill in the gaps."
To my amazement, my daughter nodded vigorously. I've never understood why some people hesitate before diving into unfamiliar tasks or activities. I couldn't imagine wanting more instructions about anything.
"There are two other typical patterns," Kathy explained. "The people I call Implementors—like Thomas Edison, for example—need physical objects to work with. They figure out things by building models or doing concrete tasks. Then there are the Follow Thrus. They set up orderly systems, like the Dewey decimal system or a school curriculum.
"And that, Katie," she said, "is why you're having trouble. The school system was created mainly by people who are natural Follow Thrus. It works best for students with the same profile. Your teachers want you to fit into the system, but you have a hard time seeing how it works. If you question the instructions—which you absolutely need to do—they think you're being sassy."
Katie nodded so hard I feared for her cervical vertebrae. I was stunned. I'd spent years trying to understand my daughter, and a veritable stranger had just nailed the problem in ways I'd never even conceptualized. Katie wanted more instructions? You could have knocked me down with a feather.
I've told this story in detail because since meeting Kathy, studying her work, and seeing how dramatically it affects people and their productivity, I've become convinced that many of us feel like failures because we don't recognize (let alone accept) that our instinctive methods of acting are as varied as our eye color. Our modus operandi shapes the way we do everything: make breakfast, drive, learn math. Not recognizing natural differences in our conative styles—assuming instead that we're idiots because we do things unconventionally—can destroy that precious sense of self-efficacy.
Imagine a race between four animals: an otter, a mole, a squirrel, and a mouse. They're headed for a goal several feet away. Which animal will win? Well, it depends. If the goal is underground, my money's on the mole. If it's in a tree? Hello, Mr. Squirrel. Underwater, it's the otter. And if the goal is hidden in tall grass, the mouse will walk away with it. Now, all these animals can swim, dig, climb, and find things in the grass. It's just that each of them does one of these things better than the others. Putting all four animals in a swimming race, say, would lead to the conclusion that one was better than the others, when the truth is simply that their innate skills are different.
If we're in an environment (such as school, a job, or a family tradition) that asks us to act against our natural style, we feel uncomfortable at best, tormented at worst. Even if we manage to conform, we don't get a high sense of self-efficacy because although we've managed the efficacy part of the equation, we've lost the self. When we fail, we feel like losers; when we succeed, we feel like impostors.
We Hear You!