So I’ve recently been binge-reading Dave Asprey‘s books. He offers up a smorgasbord of biohacks that range from “you’d be crazy to skip this” to “you’d have to be pretty desperate (not to mention filthy rich) to even try”. Still, a lot of it is very doable, and I’ve always enjoyed self-experimentation, so I’ll be busy guinea-pigging for the foreseeable future.
Apart from the physical hacks to upgrade your body and mind, there was one concept that appealed to the linguist in me. It’s the concept that words, used thoughtlessly, can have big repercussions on our mindset. In his book “Game Changers“, Dave Asprey gives us four of these “weasel words” to avoid.
Bad
“Bad” is one of them. We name people or events or things bad even though they rarely are. At least not truly and exclusively so. Most times, their only fault is that they don’t align with our wishes and expectations. Your neighborhood Stoic might call them “dispreferred indifferents” instead. Things that aren’t of existential concern, but that, given a choice, we would change.
Trouble is, we rarely have that choice. Most of these things aren’t our fault, but they’re dropped on our plate, and so they become our responsibility. If we call them “bad”, though, we give them too much weight. And we also give ourselves, our opinions, and our judgements too much weight. My bad can be your good. It’s all a matter of perspective. Of course we filter life’s events through our individual lenses, but by using categorical, exclusive terms like “bad”, we give them an outsize influence – an outsize power over us. And who wants or needs that?
Need
Speaking of “need”. This is another weasel word, for the things we call needs rarely are as existential as the word implies. I don’t really need a new computer. I don’t really need an agent. We need air, food, water, and shelter to survive. In order to thrive, we need a few more things like safety, healthy relationships, equality, education, and some financial stability. Beyond that, perceived needs are nothing but wants. Desires. Our Stoic neighbor’s “preferred indifferents”.
So, again, the goal is not to give our wants an undue amount of weight and influence over our lives and our happiness by calling them needs. Especially when it comes to stuff, more of it rarely brings more happiness. We buy something shiny and new, something we absolutely “need”. There’s a brief spike of satisfaction when we get it. We’re happy. And then, at worst, buyer’s remorse kicks in, or, at best, we add another item to our growing collection of things we don’t really need, and our happiness drops back to what it was before. It’s called hedonic adaptation, and if we don’t watch it, it keeps us stuck on the hamster wheel of consumerism.
Can’t
The next word, according to Dave Asprey, is “can’t”. Again, its use is entirely justified in some contexts. Our individual physiology limits us in what we can conceivably do. More often than not, though, “can’t” is the word we use when we don’t want to do something. It’s so much more socially acceptable to say that we can’t do something – usually because we’re too busy, which might be a weasel word of its own – when in reality we just don’t want the hassle. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting the hassle, or having different priorities, but it would be more honest to just say so instead of feigning inability or busyness.
This is a hard one, and I’m not sure I fully agree with Dave Asprey here. White lies do serve a social purpose, and honesty at all cost isn’t necessarily worth pursuing. Especially when it comes to people who are peripheral to our lives, such lies can spare their feelings, or avoid unnecessary conflict. But if white lies serve as a substitute for setting real boundaries, they can become counterproductive, and honesty may be the better – if harder – choice in the long run.
Try
The word “try” is much more clear-cut in its status as a weasel word. Trying is easy. Trying is a cop-out. It leaves the door open to haphazard effort, it robs us of agency, and it casts us in the role of victim. Trying is a wimpy substitute for doing. Doing requires us to get invested, to go all in. It requires us to take full responsibility for our actions, and it carries the real risk of failure.
But then again, failure is often no more than feedback, and not the catastrophe we make it out to be. It’s usually our ego that’s hit hardest by failure. Unless we run into some seriously bad (and I mean truly and not weaselly bad) luck, or take outsize, irresponsible risks, failure is rarely an existential threat. Our friend, the Stoics, gives us a pretty good risk gauge: “What’s the worst that could happen?” If the worst involves ruin, death, and dismemberment, maybe a slight rethinking of our approach might be in order. For everything else, though, we need to weigh the odds, make a decision, and take responsibility for it. And whatever we decide, we could do worse than following the great philosopher Yoda’s advice: “Do or do not, there is no try”.
Have to
Here are my own additions to the weasel family. One is “have to”. Again, you very rarely have to do anything. The “have-tos” are usually imposed upon us. We don’t really want to do them, but we “have to”. Framing them this way doesn’t only rob us of agency, it also distances us from the task, and builds up internal resistance. If I “have to” get my word count in, I automatically signal to myself that I’d rather do anything else and that writing is to be dreaded. So why not either reframe the entire concept into something more palatable, or replace “have to” with “get to”? Admittedly, it sounds weird in conversation, but in our self-talk it works wonders for our outlook and our motivation.
Should
A slight spin on the same issue is the word “should”. This time, the burden is usually put upon us by guilt. When we should ourselves, we usually attempt to guilt ourselves into doing something that we know is good for us but might be uncomfortable or unpleasant. Why not use “will” instead? It doesn’t leave us with a way out and puts the responsibility squarely in our court. This might indeed be uncomfortable, but it’s by stretching our comfort zone that we grow.
When we tell ourselves that we should exercise more, what actually registers is the implicit “but”. The simple statement “I should exercise more” can be followed by any number of buts: But I’d rather watch Netflix. But I’m too busy. Or, more insidious: But I’m lazy, or, worse, a failure. When our “buts” aren’t situational but personal, there’s a real problem that needs (yes, needs) to be addressed appropriately. Mostly, though, when we should ourselves, our inner toddler immediately throws a tantrum. I don’t know about you, but that image motivates me like nothing else can, and I immediately switch from “should” to “will”. By doing that, we have a done deal. We’ve already made the decision. We have agency, we exercise it, and we take responsibility for it. In other words, we do the adult thing.
What does all of that have to do with writing? Well, glad you asked. As writers we are already familiar with the power of language. We harness that power in our stories. And we can leverage it just as powerfully in our lives.