Living in a new city comes with some small joys. There are people to meet, fresh places to discover and new bars and restaurants to try, provided you can find your way to them.
I’ve been based in a new city for work and getting my bearings over the last few months. Now, I’m usually quite good with maps and directions, but there’s been a few minor geographical embarrassments along the way.
Finding myself at odds with Google Maps is inconvenient at the best of times, but what’s intrigued me of late is how I react when I realise I’m heading in the wrong direction. Turning around and going back ought to be simple enough, but apparently, I have this quirky, automatic routine I step through first.
You see, instead of turning straight around and heading back in the right direction, out comes my phone. I study the screen with a puzzled expression before heading back the way I came, as though a message has changed my plans. Sometimes I even give a brief look that seems to say, “Oh yeah, that’s right.”
It was only last week in a moment of “temporary longitudinal displacement” I noticed this little quirk for the first time, as though the people walking past needed an explanation for my sudden change in direction. Nobody had asked for a reason. Indeed, nobody around me even noticed, but I provided a defense, regardless.
Noticing this curious ritual, I started thinking about how the habit of explaining our flawed decisions to no real purpose can show up in other places.
Imagine you’ve asked your team to email their weekly updates so you can pull them into a single report. You’ve explained the process and got it underway when someone suggests everyone could simply update the shared report directly; obviously a smarter, more efficient approach. It’s an excellent suggestion, only inconvenienced because you’ve only just finished explaining your inferior plan.
You can see it’s better, but first you explain that you’d chosen email because everyone was familiar with it. You go on, telling everyone that you wanted to keep things simple. Several minutes later, you’re still talking through the merits of an approach you’ve already agreed to change, making sure everyone understands there was some thought behind it.
That need to justify our original decision can feed a phenomenon called escalation of commitment, where we keep putting time, effort or sometimes money into an inferior approach despite evidence that it isn’t working, or that there is a better solution. Here, we’ve agreed to change the plan, but apparently the old one still deserves a closing argument, whereas we could just call it what it is; wasting time.
Sound familiar? I know I do it sometimes, and much of the explanation is for my benefit, not those around me.
It’s okay to admit we got it wrong or that someone else has thought of a better way to do things. Committing to a plan doesn’t mean we have to defend it when something better comes along, or a change of direction is needed. The real trap is wasting too much time and effort defending and explaining our original position.
Next time I realise I’m heading in the wrong direction, whether that’s on a footpath or at work, I’m simply going to correct my heading and move forwards. No apologies or explanations, because most of the time those around me don’t really care.
Are you wasting time defending a plan you’ve already decided to change?