Feeling stuck in your career? Science says you need wisdom, not willpower, to stay motivated
Why So Many Goals Fail
The 'Middle Problem'
If you have ever beaten yourself up for 'not being motivated enough,' science has a surprising message for you. According to motivation scientist and University of Chicago professor Ayelet Fishbach , the key to staying motivated is not about willpower or grit — it is about knowing how to work with your mind and environment.Speaking in her TED Talk, "The Science of Motivation ," Fishbach challenges one of the most common metaphors we use for motivation. 'It's not a muscle,' she says. 'It's knowledge.'Many people believe some are naturally 'stronger' when it comes to self-control. Fishbach says this view is misleading. Motivation, she explains, is something you can learn and refine. Her science-backed framework is simple: to stay motivated, you either change the situation itself or change how you think about it.For example, she recalls wanting to walk more. Instead of forcing herself through sheer discipline, she got a puppy who loves long walks — turning the task into something she looked forward to rather than dreaded.Fishbach's research, cited in her book Get It Done: Surprising Lessons from the Science of Motivation, reveals that the biggest reason people abandon goals is not because they are unimportant, but because they are unenjoyable to pursue.'Most goals are about wanting to have done something rather than wanting to do it,' she says in the TED Talk. This gap between the desire for the outcome and the reluctance to embrace the process often leads to quitting halfway.Her advice: set goals that excite you along the way, not just at the finish line. If you enjoy the process, you are far more likely to stick with it.Even when people start strong, motivation tends to fade during the middle phase of a project. Fishbach calls this 'the middle problem.' Motivation is naturally high at the start and toward the end, but the mid-point often feels like a slump.Her solution? Make middles shorter. Instead of setting a vague yearly resolution, break it into monthly, weekly, or even daily goals so the finish line always feels close enough to push toward.Fishbach's perspective reframes motivation from a matter of personal toughness to one of strategic design. By aligning goals with enjoyment, breaking them into shorter spans, and altering your environment to make progress natural, you can make motivation sustainable.In other words, you do not need to be 'stronger' to achieve your goals — you just need to be wiser about how you set them.
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Time of India
6 days ago
- Time of India
Feeling stuck in your career? Science says you need wisdom, not willpower, to stay motivated
Motivation Is a Skill, Not a Gift Why So Many Goals Fail The 'Middle Problem' If you have ever beaten yourself up for 'not being motivated enough,' science has a surprising message for you. According to motivation scientist and University of Chicago professor Ayelet Fishbach , the key to staying motivated is not about willpower or grit — it is about knowing how to work with your mind and in her TED Talk, "The Science of Motivation ," Fishbach challenges one of the most common metaphors we use for motivation. 'It's not a muscle,' she says. 'It's knowledge.'Many people believe some are naturally 'stronger' when it comes to self-control. Fishbach says this view is misleading. Motivation, she explains, is something you can learn and refine. Her science-backed framework is simple: to stay motivated, you either change the situation itself or change how you think about example, she recalls wanting to walk more. Instead of forcing herself through sheer discipline, she got a puppy who loves long walks — turning the task into something she looked forward to rather than research, cited in her book Get It Done: Surprising Lessons from the Science of Motivation, reveals that the biggest reason people abandon goals is not because they are unimportant, but because they are unenjoyable to pursue.'Most goals are about wanting to have done something rather than wanting to do it,' she says in the TED Talk. This gap between the desire for the outcome and the reluctance to embrace the process often leads to quitting advice: set goals that excite you along the way, not just at the finish line. If you enjoy the process, you are far more likely to stick with when people start strong, motivation tends to fade during the middle phase of a project. Fishbach calls this 'the middle problem.' Motivation is naturally high at the start and toward the end, but the mid-point often feels like a solution? Make middles shorter. Instead of setting a vague yearly resolution, break it into monthly, weekly, or even daily goals so the finish line always feels close enough to push perspective reframes motivation from a matter of personal toughness to one of strategic design. By aligning goals with enjoyment, breaking them into shorter spans, and altering your environment to make progress natural, you can make motivation other words, you do not need to be 'stronger' to achieve your goals — you just need to be wiser about how you set them.
Indian Express
15-07-2025
- Indian Express
In CM Naim, East and West met
Last week, a friend called to give me the sad news of Naim sahib's passing. He had not been too well since suffering a stroke a couple of years ago. But after returning from rehab, his spirit was as indomitable as ever. He relished writing and wrote with zest: Sparkling essays, columns and a weekly, later monthly, newsletter that he dispatched electronically to a large following. Naim sahib did not shy away from technology. He had a website on which he posted stuff he liked. But the newsletter was his commentary on various subjects related to literature, including world politics that impacted literature. He wrote what was on his mind without mincing the truth. It was a privilege to be on his mailing list. Choudhri Muhammad Naim (1935-2025) was a very dear friend of my father, (Urdu writer) Shamsur Rahman Faruqi. He would affectionately call him Choudhri but I always addressed him as Naim sahib, never Naim chacha or uncle, as is the common tradition in South Asian families. Perhaps this form of address was an instinctive nod to the fact that he lived in America, taught at the University of Chicago and had a 'Western' air about him. But he always spoke chaste Urdu, never English. As a young girl, my interpretation of Western manners was not just his corduroy trousers and jacket but also his bluntness. If Naim sahib didn't like something, he would firmly say, 'no'. I admired him and kept a safe distance from him. Naim sahib also carried a camera and would take pictures of us. In the India of the 1970s, a sleek camera was a luxury one often associated with foreigners. I still have the pictures he took of my parents and one of me with my father. I remember my father looking forward to Naim sahib's yearly visits to India. They would be engaged in discussions for hours on serious subjects but also find time to share life stories. I could hear the sounds of laughter floating from my father's study. He would joke about my father's obsession with work, advise him to relax and take up gardening. My father would be half-amused and half-annoyed at this. Only Naim sahib could chastise him. I have memories of his visits from my father's postings at Lucknow, Allahabad, Delhi and Patna. Lucknow was special because Naim sahib was from Barabanki, a town not far from there. He did his Master's in Urdu literature from Lucknow University in 1955, after which he joined the University of California, Berkeley, as a graduate student. He completed an MA in Linguistics from UC Berkeley in 1961. From 1968 until his retirement in 2001, he taught at the University of Chicago's Department of South Asian Languages and Civilisations; he served as its chairperson from 1985 to 1991. When Naim sahib began teaching Urdu language and literature, there weren't many resources for teaching Urdu at universities. He had to improvise and find a methodology that would connect with his students. His style of teaching was very South Asian; that is, he criticised more than he praised. He pushed his students to higher levels of proficiency; sometimes, there were disappointments, at other times spectacular successes. His list of accomplishments is long and I am not going to go into the many programmes and university presses he served, but I must mention his enduring achievements — first as the co-founder of the pathbreaking Mahfil: Journal of South Asian Literature in 1965, and later, as the founding editor of Urdu's premier journal, The Journal of Urdu Studies. The journal began publication in 1981. He did great service in producing two textbooks of Urdu, Readings in Urdu Prose and Poetry (1965) and Introductory Urdu in two volumes (1999). At Chicago, he produced several distinguished PhDs, among them the critic and scholar Frances W Pritchett. Scrolling through Pritchett's website on Naim sahib for his publications, one finds an impressive list of articles and translations. He did not have a taste for writing books/monographs but one of his enduring works is the stellar translation, with an introduction and notes, of Mir Taqi Mir's convoluted autobiography, Zikr-e Mir (1999). When I moved to the US in 1998, I did not expect Naim sahib to gush over my arrival. On my father's insistence, I did call him a few times and he was concerned in a friendly way about how I would manage alone in a foreign place. He didn't offer any help by way of writing recommendation letters. Thus, I was surprised when I received a letter in the mail from him (I do wish I could find that letter now). In that letter, he told me that he had suggested my name to Oxford University Press to edit an anthology of modern Urdu literature. It had been offered to him, he said, but he wrote that in his opinion, after my father, I was the only person he could see accomplishing this huge task. I was floored. I accepted the job and went on to publish the two-volume anthology in 2008. That was a milestone in my academic career and I owe it to Naim sahib. Choudhri Naim straddled Eastern and Western literary conventions with acuity. His passing leaves a huge void in Urdu studies. The writer is professor, Department of Middle Eastern and South Asian Languages and Cultures, University of Virginia, US
Scroll.in
13-07-2025
- Scroll.in
‘A powerful urge to be useful to other women': What Ashrafunnisa Begum's life revealed to CM Naim
Choudhri Mohammed Naim, aka CM Naim, a prominent scholar of Urdu language and literature, died on July 9 at the age of 89. He was a professor emeritus at the University of Chicago. Naim was also the founding editor of the Annual of Urdu Studies and Mahfil (now Journal of South Asian Literature), as well as the author of the definitive textbook for Urdu pedagogy in English. He was born on June 3, 1936, in Barabanki, Uttar Pradesh and educated at Lucknow University, Lucknow, Deccan College, Poona, and the University of California, Berkeley. In 1961, he joined the faculty of the Department of South Asian Languages and Civilizations at the University of Chicago, which he chaired from 1985 to 1991. He retired in 2001. He was a national fellow at the Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla, in 2009, and a visiting professor at the Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi, in 2003. Some of his best-known works are Ambiguities of Heritage (1999), Urdu Texts and Contexts (2004), and The Muslim League in Barabanki (2013). He also translated Urdu writings into English some of which are Ghalib's Lighter Verse (1972), Inspector Matadeen on the Moon: Selected Satires (1994), Curfew in the City (1998), and A Most Noble Life: The Biography of Ashrafunnisa Begum (1840–1903) (2021). A Most Noble Life: The Biography of Ashrafunnisa Begum (1840–1903) by Muhammadi Begum (1877–1908) is the first complete English translation of Hayat-e Ashraf (1904), the extraordinary story of Ashrafunnisa Begum. Ashrafunnisa, born in a village in Bijnor, Uttar Pradesh, taught herself to read and write in secret, against the wishes of her elders and prevailing norms. She went on to teach and inspire generations of young girls at the Victoria Girls' School – the first school for girls in Lahore. Her unusual life was written about with great poignancy by Muhammadi Begum – the first woman to edit a journal in Urdu, the weekly Tahzib-i-Niswan. Muhammadi Begum was a prolific writer of fiction and poetry for adults and children, and instructional books for women during her brief life. She aptly titled the biography Hayat-e Ashraf: it echoes the name of her subject, but also means 'the noblest life'. Indeed, both biographer and subject may be described, says Professor CM Naim, as 'noble lives'. The two women, who met by chance at a wedding, instantly developed a strong mutual affinity, which grew into a lifelong bond. In Ashrafunnisa Begum, Muhammadi Begum saw not only the mother she had lost as a child, but also an inspiring role model who had led a principled life of her own making, and shown amazing grace and strength against grave odds. This annotated translation by CM Naim, an eminent scholar of Urdu literature and culture, also provides the first detailed study of the life and works of its author, Muhammadi Begum, and highlights, in an 'Afterword', two key social issues of the time, women's literacy and widow remarriage, which remain as relevant today. In this conversation with writer Githa Hariharan (in 2022), CM Naim spoke of the lives and times of Muhammadi Begum and Ashrafunnisa Begum, their work, and the unique friendship that nurtured both of them. Let me begin with asking you to comment on the ways in which this slim biography of Ashrafunnisa by Muhammadi Begum dispels the gloomy image of the silent and secluded Muslim woman of the 19th and possibly 20th century. The trouble, as I see it, lies in the 'totality' and 'exclusivity' we allow to these claims. In the 19th century, a huge number of Muslim men were not literate, just as a huge number of Muslim women were not secluded, or not any more secluded than the non-Muslim women of the same class, occupation or region. The wives of Muslim weavers and barbers and food-sellers may have kept their faces covered while toiling alongside men but their lives were not secluded the way we assume them to be – rightly – for the women of the upper classes. Then there were the differences we see in Bibi Ashraf's life. Her family was Shi'ah; the women of the household held weekly majlis where they read out texts from religious books. She lost her mother when she was only eight; otherwise, she would have learnt to read and write the way other girls in the family did. We also see a young Muslim widow, a Pathan, taking up employment with the family as a Qur'an instructress. I found A Most Notable Life a fascinating entry point into the lives of two women I want to know more about. But I also want to know more about the context of their times and work. Ashrafunnisa's account of how she learnt to read and write is, for me, the most moving section of the book. She encounters obstacles in learning how to read, but the challenges she faces in learning how to write seem far more severe. I am curious about this. Is it far-fetched to conclude that a writing woman presents a greater threat to the patriarchal establishment, because she assumes the power of an 'inscriber' rather than merely being a body (or mind) to be inscribed upon? The chief obstacles are the wilful grandfather and uncle. The grandfather holds the most authority, and the uncle is more immediately present in the lives of the women in the household. The grandfather is not against female literacy in principle. He willingly allows it until the widowed female teacher gets remarried. That is a worse 'sin' in his eyes than reading and writing. But then he considers the fact of his son, Bibi Ashraf's father, taking up a pesha, a profession – he moved to Gwalior and became a lawyer – an equal threat to his honour. The family's attitude toward writing is complex. Her grandfather tolerated some girls in the family learning writing from their mothers; her father rejoiced when he learned that Bibi Ashraf could read and write so well, but her uncle became more furious and punitive. I feel writing in the upper classes, where seclusion was more closely observed, was seen as an instrument that could make it possible for women to break out of that seclusion. We should not assume that writing was then considered an integral element of education. Transmission of essential or requisite knowledge to a majority of males and females could be done orally. Or so, arguably, the society believed at the time. I am amazed by the use of multiple genres by both women – poetry, essays, memoir, biography, novels, stories for children, 'instruction' manuals. Was this characteristic of the 'educated' of the times, or was it driven by the need to be useful to a range of readers? And would you say that in the case of women, or these two women at least, the autobiographical element links all the genres they make use of? That's a very interesting question, and I don't have a clear answer. I can only assert with some confidence that before the 20th century, most prose writings also contained verses. Very often, these were original verses by the author of the text, alongside quoted verses by well-known or obscure poets. The purpose could have been to emphasise a point by reiteration in a more memorable form, or adding the authority of the past to the point being made. The same is done, for instance, by using proverbs. Nazir Ahmad, the reformist novelist, was a great versifier and public orator. His lectures and long poems at the annual sessions of the organisations he supported were hugely popular. So, anyone who learned to read in those days encountered poetry from day one. And if you had creative impulses, you trained yourself to write verses as well as sentences. In the case of Muhammadi Begum, she was indeed driven by a powerful urge to be useful to other women – her sisters, bahneñ – in particular her contemporaries, i.e. young wives, and girls, and wrote in several genres. Since the education of women is so crucial in the context of the two women's lives and work, the writing does a balancing act between the creative and the expression of the self on the one hand, and the didactic on the other. To what extent does such didactic literature – or 'instructional books' – differ when authored by men (such as Nazir Ahmad, whose work took up women's education as well as conduct), and women such as Ashrafunnisa and Muhammadi Begum? My friend, writer and critic Aamer Hussein, writes that 'Muhammadi Begum reworks and amends, with affection and insight, the reforms suggested by Nazir Ahmad.' In what ways do the women, Muhammadi in particular, take the project forward, not only as writers, but as journalists, teachers and publishers? What we now label 'didactic fiction' was not thought of as merely instructional by its authors; they meant it to entertain too. It would have been Khel khel meñ kam ki bateñ, 'useful words in playtime'. The authors simply called them novels. And this applies to female writers and readers too, until they began to learn English. As for your core question, I can best answer it by exaggerating my response. Nazir Ahmad, Hali and other male reformists wanted to educate women so that they would be good mothers to their children and proficient in managing their homes. Bibi Ashraf and Muhammadi Begum prize these goals too, but they also prize education as a means of mental and spiritual self-improvement. For better self-expression, even. But the most important thing with Muhammadi Begum is that she lays great emphasis on a commonality of sorts, on a sisterhood of peers. She also wishes to make women proficient beyond her kinfolk, and even beyond the threshold of her own home. To that extent, it may be more the aspiration of an upper-class woman. But it also suggests that for her, female literacy was a given. As indeed it was by that time for the salaried middle-class. It's clear that propriety is the framework within which these two women, and others like them, have to work to reap some gains. Keeping this in mind, may I ask you to unpack the word 'hayat' for us? The biography is called Hayat-e Ashraf, and you have translated it as A Most Noble Life. I am thinking of the difference in English between 'respectable' and 'noble' when I ask you to explain 'hayat' for those of us who do not know Urdu. 'Unpacking' hayat would require explaining what 'life' meant to Muhammadi Begum or to an Urdu writer in the 19th century – a tall order. I can only say that Muhammadi Begum seems to have chosen the most apt title for her book. It echoes the title of Altaf Husain Hali's iconic biography of Sir Syed, Hayat-i-Javaid (An Everlasting Life), published only three years earlier. Hayat-i-Ashraf can be read as 'The Life of Ashraf[unnisa Begum]' or as 'An Ashraf Life,' i.e. 'A Most Noble Life.' Ashraf is the superlative of sharif, and the latter, of course, is a marker of numerous presumed personal attributes, ranging from nobility of birth to modesty in speech and much more. Muhammadi Begum organised her book in a similar manner: first, a chronological account, followed by short sections on what she considered her subject's exemplary traits or, as she put it, her 'Disposition, Habits and Manners.' Throughout the text, she never fails to remind her readers – her 'sisters' – to exert themselves and follow Bibi Ashraf's example. Pioneers have to be remembered not only for what they did – given their times – but also in connection with their descendants. Would you speculate on the ways in which Muhammadi opened doors for the Urdu women writers who came after her in the 20th century? Muhammadi Begum was not the first woman poet in Urdu, nor the first fiction writer. She was, however, the first in several other ways. She was the first woman to edit an Urdu journal and to write on many of the issues that were of great concern to women of her community and class. She also wrote 'manuals' for women – on writing letters, on managing the household, or on meeting their peers outside the kinship network. In everything she wrote, she made it clear there were no limits to women's abilities. And most importantly, she made it clear that women can help each other in discovering and putting to use these abilities. I should emphasise one point here. It was her husband's dream to publish a journal for sharif women that was also edited by a sharif woman – contra the two journals that had appeared earlier and failed. Mumtaz Ali was a champion of Muslim women's causes, and he strongly believed in gender equality. No doubt he viewed himself as a wise guide, and never hesitated to publish in the journal his own views on some subjects of concern; but what impressed me was his readiness to give space to opposing views, never adopting a patronising or dismissive tone in his responses. Coming back to your question, Muhammadi Begum's journal, Tahzib-i-Niswan, gained wide circulation, though subscriptions were slow in coming. But it soon became the journal of choice for aspiring female writers. Hijab Imtiaz Ali, Qurratulain Hyder and Rasheed Jahan made their debut in its pages. And Ismat Chughtai made her first appearance in print as an excited reporter from Aligarh informing the 'Tahzib Sisters' that Rasheed Jahan had completed her medical course. So I think it is not so much the matter of opening doors that makes Muhammadi Begum's journal important; it is the spirit of confident sisterhood that she identified and fostered. I don't want the two women, Ashrafunnisa and Muhammadi, to get lost in the jungle of history though, whether it is the history of women's education or journalism or literature. I want to pay a tribute to their friendship – which allowed them to have a rich relationship that encompasses a role model, a colleague and a surrogate family. And this despite their age difference, despite one being Sunni and the other, Shia. Would you say their friendship gives an edge to their interest in writing memoir and biography? Their close friendship, their deep trust in each other, was to my mind the most thought-provoking and inspiring thing about them. No doubt, they both had very painful childhoods – having lost their mothers at a tender age. But they also seemed to see in each other a kind of partner-in-arms, joined in some cause. The much older Bibi Ashraf unhesitatingly treated Muhammadi Begum, barely out of her teens, almost as her leader in a cause that concerns all women. We should also recall that the 'seclusion' of sharif women in those days was stricter. It even meant seclusion from the company of a great many females within the extended families as well their neighbourhoods. Muhammadi Begum started her journal Tahzib-i-Niswan in 1898, and amazingly, from the very beginning, she thought of it as a gathering place where women, previously strangers to each other, could meet and become 'sisters'. She coined the expression tahzibi bahnen, 'Tahzibi Sisters', to describe this coming together. Then, acutely aware of the larger issue, she quickly proceeded to write a manual on the art of Mulaqat, explaining how a sensible woman should behave in the company of other women outside her own family, complete strangers. It was, of course, the time when men in government jobs at all levels, including the salariat middle- and lower-middle class jobs, were liable to be transferred from one district to another, requiring their wives to also move from place to place with them. They led a very lonely life unless they made an effort to know their neighbours – strangers or peers – with no past experience to guide them.
