Think Again

ATTACHMENT ISSUES
Not long ago I gave a speech at a conference about my research on givers,
takers, and matchers. I was studying whether generous, selfish, or fair
people were more productive in jobs like sales and engineering. One of the
attendees was Daniel Kahneman, the Nobel Prize–winning psychologist
who has spent much of his career demonstrating how flawed our intuitions
are. He told me afterward that he was surprised by my finding that givers
had higher rates of failure than takers and matchers—but higher rates of
success, too.
When you read a study that surprises you, how do you react? Many
people would get defensive, searching for flaws in the study’s design or the
statistical analysis. Danny did the opposite. His eyes lit up, and a huge grin
appeared on his face. “That was wonderful,” he said. “I was wrong.”
Later, I sat down with Danny for lunch and asked him about his
reaction. It looked a lot to me like the joy of being wrong—his eyes
twinkled as if he was having fun. He said that in his eighty-five years, no
one had pointed that out before, but yes, he genuinely enjoys discovering
that he was wrong, because it means he is now less wrong than before.
I knew the feeling. In college, what first attracted me to social science
was reading studies that clashed with my expectations; I couldn’t wait to
tell my roommates about all the assumptions I’d been rethinking. In my first
independent research project, I tested some predictions of my own, and
more than a dozen of my hypotheses turned out to be false.
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 It was a major
lesson in intellectual humility, but I wasn’t devastated. I felt an immediate
rush of excitement. Discovering I was wrong felt joyful because it meant
I’d learned something. As Danny told me, “Being wrong is the only way I
feel sure I’ve learned anything.”
Danny isn’t interested in preaching, prosecuting, or politicking. He’s a
scientist devoted to the truth. When I asked him how he stays in that mode,

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he said he refuses to let his beliefs become part of his identity. “I change my
mind at a speed that drives my collaborators crazy,” he explained. “My
attachment to my ideas is provisional. There’s no unconditional love for
them.”
Attachment. That’s what keeps us from recognizing when our opinions
are off the mark and rethinking them. To unlock the joy of being wrong, we
need to detach. I’ve learned that two kinds of detachment are especially
useful: detaching your present from your past and detaching your opinions
from your identity.
Let’s start with detaching your present from your past. In psychology,
one way of measuring the similarity between the person you are right now
and your former self is to ask: which pair of circles best describes how you
see yourself?
In the moment, separating your past self from your current self can be
unsettling. Even positive changes can lead to negative emotions; evolving
your identity can leave you feeling derailed and disconnected. Over time,
though, rethinking who you are appears to become mentally healthy—as
long as you can tell a coherent story about how you got from past to present
you. In one study, when people felt detached from their past selves, they
became less depressed over the course of the year. When you feel as if your
life is changing direction, and you’re in the process of shifting who you are,
it’s easier to walk away from foolish beliefs you once held.
My past self was Mr. Facts—I was too fixated on knowing. Now I’m
more interested in finding out what I don’t know. As Bridgewater founder
Ray Dalio told me, “If you don’t look back at yourself and think, ‘Wow,

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how stupid I was a year ago,’ then you must not have learned much in the
last year.”
The second kind of detachment is separating your opinions from your
identity. I’m guessing you wouldn’t want to see a doctor whose identity is
Professional Lobotomist, send your kids to a teacher whose identity is
Corporal Punisher, or live in a town where the police chief’s identity is
Stop-and-Frisker. Once upon a time, all of these practices were seen as
reasonable and effective.
Most of us are accustomed to defining ourselves in terms of our beliefs,
ideas, and ideologies. This can become a problem when it prevents us from
changing our minds as the world changes and knowledge evolves. Our
opinions can become so sacred that we grow hostile to the mere thought of
being wrong, and the totalitarian ego leaps in to silence counterarguments,
squash contrary evidence, and close the door on learning.
Who you are should be a question of what you value, not what you
believe. Values are your core principles in life—they might be excellence
and generosity, freedom and fairness, or security and integrity. Basing your
identity on these kinds of principles enables you to remain open-minded
about the best ways to advance them. You want the doctor whose identity is
protecting health, the teacher whose identity is helping students learn, and
the police chief whose identity is promoting safety and justice. When they
define themselves by values rather than opinions, they buy themselves the
flexibility to update their practices in light of new evidence.

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