Before we continue, imagine a simple task. A couple of puzzle pieces in the same color, and a heart that you can complete within less than a minute. Now, imagine two outcomes. In the first one, upon completing the task, the heart is taken and put into a simple box. In the second case, someone takes it apart right after you finish and places the pieces back in the pile.
Which of these two outcomes would you prefer?
Most individuals answer before the completion of the question. And most people, if asked the reason why, will have difficulty explaining it. There are no promises in the first resolution. No one will ever check the heart again. The contents of the box will remain unseen forevermore. Yet, there is something in you that prefers the first option.
It is this preference that is the subject of this piece. It pops up not only within the realm of puzzles. It is seen in the report you rewrite for the manager who will scan it, in the meal that vanishes within twelve minutes, in the kitchen that you will clean today but will have to clean again tomorrow. When hard work doesn't leave any footprint, a soft voice raises a legitimate query. Why even bother?
This piece will not convince you that everything you do has its importance. Rather, it will consider one thorough study on the smallest trace that we find moving. It will then give you just one small thing to try once tomorrow.
The smallest box in the world
This year, in the journal Psychological Science, two researchers at the University of Chicago, Yilin Liu and Fan Yang, presented four experiments. Their participants were 604 children aged between four and nine and 582 adults.
Their tasks were as simple as can be. People were presented with puzzle pieces that could form a heart or a star on a computer screen. In one condition, the completed image would be packed in a box; in another, it would be disassembled. That was all the difference there was to it.
There was no indication regarding how long this figure was going to be retained. There was no indication anywhere about who was supposed to look at this and use it. The researchers called it minimal significance, and it is difficult to think of a lesser one. A figure in a box and nothing else.
That was enough. Both children and grown-ups considered the version that saved their work as the superior game, and when asked which game they preferred to play, they chose it in most cases. It mattered little if they were to play only once or repeatedly.
Just let it sink in. A box no one would open influenced how people perceived their work.
The shortcut
The toughest test came during the third experiment. Here, people were presented with an escape route. They could assemble the heart, or they could bypass assembling and place all pieces directly into the box, which would be simpler and quicker.
83 percent of adults decided to construct a heart that will be saved. However, only 34 percent of them constructed it when they discovered that their hearts would be destroyed. Most of them chose the easy way out.
Children demonstrated similar behavior, and it was even more pronounced in the older children. The younger the children were, the more likely they were to construct a heart that would later be dismantled. In case of making a heart which would remain, age did not really matter.
See what remains unchanged between the two conditions. The pieces remained the same. The effort was identical. The enjoyment of fitting things together was the same. The only difference was that the ending brought about a change in the beginning.
The authors made their conclusion in one sentence.
They wrote that "no amount of significance is too small to matter."
It was about making, not keeping
One thing that I think is very beautiful in the second study is a subtle little detail. The scientists wanted to establish whether people are just happy when they see something preserved regardless of what this something is. In other words, they asked people to watch how pieces of puzzles come together to form a certain shape and others were given an opportunity to build that shape themselves.
They then introduced a minimal fee. The preservation of the shape required a sticker for the children and also a similar decision for the grown-ups. Those who merely observed were not concerned about the fate of the shape very much. They chose the option for free as we could have expected. But the ones who constructed the shape on their own acted quite differently. Quite a number of them were ready to pay for its preservation.
Thus, the pull was not towards the saved objects in general. It was towards the trace of something that you had created. The box held significance because your hands were working on something prior to it.
In an earlier piece on boredom, we saw how quickly the hand reaches for something when a minute feels empty. If the work you're doing is going to be erased, you may experience emptiness in the process of doing it.
An old story with a small update
The Greeks have an image for futile labor. When Odysseus travels to the underworld in the Odyssey, he meets Sisyphus who pushes a big rock up a hill. The stone rolls back to the bottom every time it gets near the top, and Sisyphus starts all over again.
Usually, we interpret this narrative in terms of arduous labor. Interpret it again with the study in mind. The weight is not really the problem. There are many who happily bear heavy loads on a daily basis. His problem is that nothing remains.
What the experiment tells us is that perhaps there isn't as wide a distinction between a Sisyphus day and an everyday experience as we might expect. In one case, the stone keeps rolling backward. In another, a small item is placed aside and ignored. All it takes to change from one to the other might be very little. It might require just a box.
What enjoyment can do, and what it cannot
Perhaps you imagine sand castles. Children create them in the knowledge that the tide is about to come, and they appear to be perfectly happy with it. The researchers had sand castles on their minds when testing the hypothesis in the fourth study.
This time, a number of kids were reminded nicely before they made a decision: the game was meant to be fun. The adult participants received the same framing. It was effective; people became more likely to build something, especially knowing that what they had built was going to be demolished.
However, enjoyment was not enough to bridge the entire gap. Even with enjoyment in mind, people were still more likely to build when the shape would be preserved. The authors refer to this phenomenon as partial compensation, and I would like to note what they say about it as something that might be applicable to daily life. Pleasure in an activity and its perceived significance represent two types of values. These are two separate values and one may substitute the other to some extent.
It is a kind conclusion, not a harsh one. This does not mean that you should stop making sand castles. It only means that when you know that the tide is going to come, joy takes some of the burden, and the other burden remains.
What this study cannot tell you
For honesty, boundaries are necessary, and this experiment has boundaries.
The exercises were quick and straightforward. Individuals had to make one decision regarding the puzzle pieces on a computer screen, most of them during an experiment that would last a few minutes. Participants were from the United States. No one was observed at work or at home and no information can be provided regarding the duration of the effect or if people get used to it.
The authors themselves are very cautious about it. They say a small amount may suffice if the activity itself is enjoyable. A box cannot save an activity that exhausts you. That was never its purpose.
A photograph, name or being noticed might also help, but they have not tried this out. These are suggestions and not proven fact.
Keep one thing
Do this just once tomorrow.
First, choose something small that is ephemeral in nature. A note sheet you'll discard, a meal, sketches on an envelope, an organized desk. It should be something small which can be accomplished in one sitting.
Second, before you start, select where it is to be stored. This could be a box, a computer file, a single sheet of your notebook. There is no need for this to be visible to anybody. Nobody saw the box in the study as well.
Third, give this a short caption with the date. A photograph is also fine if the actual item cannot be preserved, such as the meal or the desk. Mine reads: "Erdem, this one stays." It takes a few seconds, and it turns a moment into something with an address.
Fourth, as you are engaged in the work, allow yourself to experience the joy of making. In the study, both enjoyment and keeping did their part. You don't have to pick one or the other.
Next, consider what the task was like compared to when you performed the task last time. You may realize that some of the work you did didn't even need to be kept at all. It is something else to know as well.
The box
Sisyphus never had a box. The story fails to give him one, and maybe this is the purpose of the story.
You are not part of this story. Most of what you produce in a day is either consumed, deleted, sorted, or forgotten; but it is alright. However, there may be one little thing you did that particular day that is worth keeping.
What would you place inside the box first?