Tannenbaum also challenges the conventional thinking that the primary benefits of modafinil accrue in our professional lives. What if, by reducing our need for sleep, the drug allows us to spend more of our waking times engaged in hobbies, spending quality time with loved ones, going to museums, or learning to play the piano? Tannenbaum writes: “This brings us to a key potential advantage of modafinil . . . more free time, i.e. time free from work. While modafinil does not extend how long one lives, it does increase the amount of time spent awake and thus is a form of life expansion. Moreover, the expanded time can occur when one’s mind and body are in their prime, as opposed to merely adding time on at the end of one’s life.” Instead of viewing modafinil as part of a dystopian world in which people work all the time, what if it’s a part of a utopian future in which humans “waste” less of their lives with their face in a pillow and have more time for life’s out-of-the-office pleasures?
The third issue that comes up as I read these treatises: Are we drawing too fine a line between pharmaceutical enhancement and nonpharmaceutical enhancement? While this chapter has focused on two prescription drugs that can help people perform better, there is a large industry of vitamins and herbal supplements that many believe have similar effects. Is there an ethical or moral difference between using some “stack” of vitamins or nutrients versus using modafinil, simply because FDA officials have decided the latter requires a prescription and can be covered by insurance? If there is, where is the bright line?
It’s a question I ponder one day when I receive an e-mail from a company called Liquifusion, which markets intravenous vitamin injections intended to increase alertness, energy, or even sexual potency. “Intravenous therapies, though previously only used by athletes and celebrities, are now available to all,” the company’s PR person writes. “I would love to invite you for a complimentary Liquifusion IV.” She’s even willing to send someone to shoot me up at my home or office. (I pass.) Is swallowing a prescription pill any better or worse than injecting energy-enhancing vitamins? For me, it’s hard to say.
For my part, I’m comfortable keeping my stash of propranolol handy for rare TV or speaking appearances. I’m not completely ruling out the idea of taking modafinil, but I hope and expect to use it extremely rarely, if at all. My perspective on this has been strongly influenced by my wife bringing up the image of my children using a drug to help them study. We’ve always discouraged them from working past midnight on homework, arguing that if they stay on top of their work and plan ahead, there is rarely any reason to pull an all-nighter. If they’re consistently falling so far behind in a class, they need to talk to the teacher to find out if they’re doing something wrong, or determine if they aren’t cut out for the class in the first place.
The same should be true for me. While it’s natural to go through a busy period that requires a short sprint of extraordinary work, I don’t want to be working fourteen hours a day on a consistent basis. If I find myself regularly needing modafinil to get ahead at work, it’s probably a sign that I need to rethink the number of commitments I’m taking on, or otherwise tweak the demand side of the equation, instead of trying to chemically enhance the supply side of my labor.
But on a warm summer night in August, these lofty thoughts go out the window. I’m playing in a two-day, twenty-man annual golf tournament, a bragging-rights, trash-talk event with local friends. I’m by far the worst golfer in the group, and in our first day of competition on Friday, I’d played terribly, even by my low standards. All afternoon I’d felt nervous, especially on my tee shots, and I was continually sculling balls into the rough.
At a group dinner that night, I’m moping. Commiserating with a friend across the table who’s aware of my book project, I say half jokingly: “I really could have used some beta-blockers today.”
It turns out this friend takes beta-blockers before important work presentations, and he has his own doctor-prescribed supply of propranolol in his travel bag. Since he knows I have a prescription of my own, he’s willing to share. The next morning at the driving range, he hands me a plastic bag with two pills. I pop one before we tee off. On the tee, I feel unusually calm and confident. I’m the complete opposite of the previous day, hitting the ball rock solid. Thanks to the strokes allotted to me because of my handicap, I win a couple of holes early on; on the ninth hole, I hit a high-pressure putt to put my team ahead on the front nine. My playing partner, a much better golfer, can’t hit his stride, and I’m left carrying our team. With the chemical assistance, I’m able to rise to the challenge.
By the afternoon, with the meds wearing off, my putting skills diminish. I once again card the worst score among the twenty players. Our ten-man team loses, but my partner and I had a shot at winning our match up until the sixteenth hole. “Dan played out of his mind today,” my opponent announces as the teams gather for postround drinks. Apparently there’s a reason the PGA has outlawed the use of beta-blockers.
Since I’m not a PGA player, those rules don’t apply to me—and after this nerve-free performance, I now keep a bottle of the magic pills in my golf bag.
EPILOGUE
On my oldest child’s sixteenth birthday, not long after I began writing this book, I engaged in a parental rite of passage: I drove her to the Registry of Motor Vehicles so she could obtain her learner’s permit. To get it, she’d need to pass a 25-question multiple-choice test about traffic rules. She was a little nervous. So I gave her a pep talk.
“You’ll do great,” I said. “Remember, you only need to get eighteen questions right, so even if you don’t know seven answers, you’ll still pass.” I paused, trying to think of what else to say. “Did you know that 85 percent of people pass the first time?” I said. (That was a lie: I had no idea what the real number is, but I thought the fake stat sounded comforting.) Finally, I resorted to focusing on the minor consequences if she can’t find her way through this thicket: “Even if you fail, we’ll come back next week and you can take it again.”
Although I didn’t know it at the time, psychologists have a term for this ass-backward approach to pre-performance motivation. It’s called “defensive pessimism,” a fancy term for my tendency to try to psych up my children by presenting them with the worst-case-scenario and then explaining why, even if that happens, things won’t be so bad.
If you’ve read this far, I hope you realize this isn’t an optimal approach. It primes the recipient to think about failure, when instead you should be reminding them of their strengths, reviewing the strategic plan, and building up their confidence.
I don’t give this type of pep talk anymore. It’s just one of the changes I made after learning the lessons contained in this book.
I hope the preceding chapters have led you to make some modifications to your pre-performance routine, as well. Although Psyched Up isn’t intended to be an explicit self-help book, I hope it’s helped you think critically about how you should best spend the final moments before you perform and about the techniques that work best for you.
To help you in this process, as a final step, I want to do a quick inventory of the tools I’ve added to my pre-performance tool kit as a result of writing this book.
It goes without saying: Not every technique will work for everyone. I haven’t learned to do the centering exercise outlined in Chapter One. (I prefer the reappraisal technique, telling myself that I’m excited rather than nervous.) I rarely utilize trash talk or rivalry. Since I don’t lead a team at work, my pep talks are limited to my kids, who mostly ignore me.
Other techniques in this book have become part of my repertoire. Although I don’t use a custom audio sound track like the lacrosse players at West Point, I do try to boost my confidence before I perform by rereading a piece of my best writing, or listening to an old radio interview in which I was unusually articulate. Following Gary Latham’s advice, my office wall is filled with images of my most successful magazine stories. In certain ci
rcumstances, I find beta-blockers to be a useful way to combat nerves.
At the gym, I’m more aware of what music I listen to before and during workouts. For cognitive work like writing, I’ve learned that as an introvert who prefers quiet, no sound track can help me as much as blissful silence—so I’ve traded my playlists for earplugs and industrial-style soundproof headphones.
And while I don’t use it often, I still have Malcolm Gladwell’s lucky keyboard sitting on a table in my office, in case I need it.
It’s also useful to think about when and how often you’ll use your own set of techniques. Recall Stanley McChrystal’s wisdom about pep talks: He rarely used them with Special Forces who were doing three missions a night, because using any tool that frequently will necessarily diminish its power. The same is true for most tools discussed in this book. They will be most effective if you refrain from using them every day, and instead reserve them for those select days when your performance makes a meaningful difference in your life and career.
It’s fitting to end this book by reemphasizing something I said in the beginning: that there’s no substitute for focused practice, and lots of it. Getting psyched up is something you layer on top of actual rehearsal, with the goal of giving you a small boost and an incremental advantage.
In our performance-oriented culture, those small boosts can make a big difference.
Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t spent the last few years immersed in academic research as an editor at the Harvard Business Review. I’m fortunate to have this job, and to have had bosses—Adi Ignatius, Amy Bernstein, Sarah Cliffe, and Christina Bortz—who are supportive of my outside writing. I am also indebted to HBR colleagues Amy Meeker, Martha Spaulding, and Susan Donovan for their skillful assistance with my editing duties, and to Karen Dillon for helping me get hired.
Sarah Rainone consulted on the proposal for this book. Rena Kirsch did early research. Matt Mahoney provided crucial fact-checking. Jane Cavolina copyedited the manuscript and brought coherence to the endnotes. Mark Starr, David Kaplan, Amy Meeker, Dean Streck, and Chris Bersani read and commented on portions of the manuscript.
Tim Sullivan read the entire manuscript and provided vital guidance throughout the project. My debts to him run deep.
For assistance in suggesting sources, reporting ideas, or other support, thanks to Adam Bryant, Brad Stone, John Carter, Colleen Carter, Frank Cespedes, Mark Roberge, David Kaplan, Nate Zinsser, Adam Rogers, David Lefort, Brooke Hammerling, Alison Beard, Scott Berinato, N’Gai Croal, Marc Peyser, Rafi Mohammed, Keith Ferrazzi, Keith Naughton, Christian Megliola, Stefani Finks, Dave Lievens, Susannah Meadows, Matt West, Craig Nichols, Mark McNamara, Ed Crowley, Eben Harrell and Eddie Yoon.
Thanks to the many publicists who helped to arrange interviews, and to the dozens of experts whom I interviewed but did not quote or refer to in the text. I appreciate the time and insights these people shared.
Special thanks to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, IMG Academy, and The Julliard School for providing access to their campuses and personnel.
Several high school teammates offered reflections on how our 1980s pregame athletic routines translate to professional life; Eric Riso and Andy Bordick were especially insightful.
Thanks to Francis Storrs, Susanne Althoff, and Veronica Chao at the Boston Globe Magazine. I have learned much about public speaking from Nitin Nohria, Brian Kenny, and Jean Cunningham, and I am fortunate to work with them.
At Portfolio, special thanks to Adrian Zackheim, Will Weisser, Tara Gilbride, Maria Gagliano, Victoria Miller, Chris Sergio, Vivian Roberson, and Kaushik Viswanath.
Eric Nelson edited this book with energy and enthusiasm. The manuscript emerged from his computer smarter, better organized, and more concise. I appreciate his hard work and good humor.
Rafe Sagalyn, my agent, immediately saw the potential in this idea. I am lucky to have him guiding me through the publishing world.
I’m very fortunate to have my parents and in-laws, and sister and brothers-in-law, to talk over ideas and offer encouragement.
My longstanding curiosity about how people get psyched up before big events coalesced while watching my children tryout and compete in youth sports. Abby, Jack, and Tommy have remained (mostly) good-natured even as I’ve tried out pep talks and musical playlists on them. Watching them grow into accomplished performers in all areas of life has been a source of great joy.
The stress of writing books is visible in a variety of ways—longer hours at work, fewer vacations, and an increase in half-finished home improvement projects among them. My wife, Amy, tolerates these and other annoyances with grace, and I’m lucky to have her patience and love.
Notes
CHAPTER ONE: FIGHTING BACK AGAINST FIGHT OR FLIGHT
doctors began injecting adrenaline: Brian B. Hoffman, Adrenaline (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2013).
revived the animal: Ibid., 160.
perform Lazarus-like revivals: Ibid., 72.
“It increases the output”: Ibid., 15.
including Paul McCartney: Sara Solovitch, Playing Scared: A History and Memoir of Stage Fright (New York: Bloomsbury, 2015), 3.
“both utterly mysterious”: Ibid., 2.
list the techniques: Ibid., 3.
She describes the incident: Carly Simon, Boys in the Trees: A Memoir (New York: Flatiron Books, 2015), 346–52.
“It’s terribly paradoxical”: Stephen Holden, “Carly Simon Triumphs Over Her Own Panic,” New York Times, June 16, 1987.
at a 1996 birthday performance: John Lahr, “Petrified,” New Yorker, August 28, 2006.
talked about being “excited”: Alison Wood Brooks, “Get Excited: Reappraising Pre-Performance Anxiety as Excitement,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 143, no. 3 (2013): 1144–58.
calls “cognitive change”: James J. Gross, “Emotion Regulation: Current Status and Future Prospects,” Psychological Inquiry 26, no. 1 (2015): 1–26.
“appraisals of their internal states”: Jeremy P. Jamieson, Wendy Berry Mendes, Erin Blackstock, and Toni Schmader, “Turning the Knots in Your Stomach into Bows: Reappraising Arousal Improves Performance on the GRE,” Journal of Experimental Psychology 46, no. 1 (2009): 208–12.
People perform best: Peter A. Hancock and H. C. Neil Ganey, “From Inverted U to the Extended U: The Evolution of a Law of Psychology,” Journal of Human Performance in Extreme Environments 7, no. 1 (2003), article 3.
Nideffer taught the process: I interviewed Robert Nideffer as part of my reporting, but the description of his development of centering is drawn primarily from Don Greene’s book Fight Your Fear and Win (New York: Broadway Books, 2001), 50.
centered shooters performed significantly better: Ibid., 51–52.
Fight Your Fear and Win: Ibid., 53-59.
“The whole idea behind”: Ibid., 56.
CHAPTER TWO: WHY YOU NEED A PRE-PERFORMANCE RITUAL
“Getting into the character”: “The ‘How Does Stephen Colbert Work?’ Edition,” “Working” podcast, episode 1, transcript, Slate, October 16, 2014, www.slate.com/articles/podcasts/working/2014/10/stephen_colbert_on_his_improv_background_and_how_he_gets_in_character_for.html.
the things Seinfeld does: Aidan P. Moran, The Psychology of Concentration in Sports Performers: A Cognitive Analysis (Hove, U.K.: Psychology Press, 1996).
“The use of structured routines”: Stewart Cotterill, “Pre-Performance Routines in Sport: Current Understanding and Future Directions,” International Review of Sport and Exercise Psychology 3, no. 2 (2010): 132–53.
The Checklist Manifesto: Atul Gawande, The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right (New York: Picador, 2009).
LeBron James has a long set: Sean D. Hamill, “For James, Game-Day Quirks Evolve into the Ritual,” New York Times, February 11, 2010.
most ritualistic player . . . Wade Boggs: http://nowiknow.com/superstitious-superstar/.
“A solid routine”: Mason Currey, Daily Rituals: How Artists Work (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2015), xiv.
overview of research into superstition: Stuart Vyse, Believing in Magic (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 90.
exam superstitions are common: Ibid., 214.
“Soon the birds were dancing”: Ibid., 71.
see how activating superstitions: Lysann Damisch, Barbara Stoberock, and Thomas Mussweiler, “Keep Your Fingers Crossed! How Superstition Improves Performance,” Psychological Science 21, no. 7 (2010):1014–20.
“specific abilities can transfer through contagion”: Thomas Kramer and Lauren G. Block, “Like Mike: Ability Contagion Through Touched Objects Increases Confidence and Improves Performance,” Organizational Behavior and Human Decision Processes 124 (2014), 215–28.
what types of people: Vyse, Believing in Magic, 55.
his ninety-hour workweeks: Nate Ryan, “Chad Knaus Sacrifices to Be NASCAR’s Top Crew Chief,” USA Today, February 21, 2014.
individual rituals or group rituals: Tami Kim, Sezer Ovul, Juliana Schroeder, Jane Risen, Francesca Gino, Michael Norton, “Group Rituals Improve Group Performance,” draft manuscript.
how rituals affect consumption: Kathleen D. Vohs, Yajin Wang, Francesca Gino, and Michael I. Norton, “Rituals Enhance Consumption.” Psychological Science 24, no. 9 (2013), 1714–721.
how rituals affect how people feel: Michael I. Norton and Francesca Gino, “Rituals Alleviate Grieving for Loved Ones, Lovers, and Lotteries,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: General, forthcoming.
the Gypsy Robe: The Gypsy Robe ritual is described in detail at www.actorsequity.org.
a “small riot”: Jim Dwyer, “Backstage at ‘Lucky Guy,’ a Character Watches Tom Hanks Keep the Cast Loose,” New York Times, July 2, 2013.
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