First thing in the morning, I check Twitter, only to have it list off for me all the ways I’ve already fallen behind. A colleague has released a new e-book. Two of my design heroes are announcing a collaborative project. One of my old college buddies has posted a video trailer for an upcoming online program, and she looks phenomenal, polished, charismatic (I’m still in bed, bleary-eyed, and definitely not at my most telegenic.)
每天早晨，我的第一件事就是刷推特，因為它會顯示出來在哪些事情上我已經落后了。比如：我的同事已經發(fā)布了一本新電子書，我崇拜的兩個設計英雄聲明一起合作項目，我的一個大學朋友在網上發(fā)布了一段即將上映的節(jié)目的視頻預告片，她看起來美貌驚人、閃閃發(fā)亮、充滿魅力(而我還窩在床上，睡眼惺忪，肯定是不能上鏡的。)
Am I really falling behind? Is anybody actually keeping score? Did any of these people post any of the updates with the intent of making me feel bad? Of course not. But if I’m not careful, it’s terribly easy to view my social media streams as a constant reminder of all the stuff I’m not doing and dreams I’m not fulfilling.
那么，我確實落后了嗎?其他人一直都在取得成績嗎?這些人發(fā)布的任何狀態(tài)更新都是為了刺激我?當然不是。但是如果我不是很細心的話，那么很容易覺得我的社交媒體流一直在提醒我沒有做的事情和沒有實現(xiàn)的夢想。
This isn’t a social media problem. It’s a comparison problem. There isn’t a single thing about Twitter – or any of the other social media platforms I use – that’s designed to make me ask how I’m measuring up. That’s all me – an automatic, internal mechanism. It’s part ego (“But what does this say about me?”), part creative drive (“What more am I capable of?”), and part deep soul yearning (“How can I make an impact, leave a legacy, and matter?”).
這其實不是社交媒體的問題，這是一個攀比的問題。推特以及我使用的其他社交媒體平臺本身沒有任何問題，它們的設計初衷本就不是讓我用來進行自我估量的。這都是我的問題——自動的內部機制。一部分出于自我因素(“但這說到了我什么?”)，一部分出于創(chuàng)新驅動(“我還可以做到更多嗎?”)，還有一部分出于內心深處的吶喊(“我如何才能產生影響、留下遺產并發(fā)揮作用?”)。
And I know it’s not just me. I’ve spent the past year collaborating with leadership coach Tanya Geisler on researching how comparison works, what it costs us, and what it can teach us – and we’ve discovered that it runs rampant among just about every creative, growth-oriented person we know. In our comparison-soaked cultu
每天早晨，我的第一件事就是刷推特，因為它會顯示出來在哪些事情上我已經落后了。比如：我的同事已經發(fā)布了一本新電子書，我崇拜的兩個設計英雄聲明一起合作項目，我的一個大學朋友在網上發(fā)布了一段即將上映的節(jié)目的視頻預告片，她看起來美貌驚人、閃閃發(fā)亮、充滿魅力(而我還窩在床上，睡眼惺忪，肯定是不能上鏡的。)
Am I really falling behind? Is anybody actually keeping score? Did any of these people post any of the updates with the intent of making me feel bad? Of course not. But if I’m not careful, it’s terribly easy to view my social media streams as a constant reminder of all the stuff I’m not doing and dreams I’m not fulfilling.
那么，我確實落后了嗎?其他人一直都在取得成績嗎?這些人發(fā)布的任何狀態(tài)更新都是為了刺激我?當然不是。但是如果我不是很細心的話，那么很容易覺得我的社交媒體流一直在提醒我沒有做的事情和沒有實現(xiàn)的夢想。
This isn’t a social media problem. It’s a comparison problem. There isn’t a single thing about Twitter – or any of the other social media platforms I use – that’s designed to make me ask how I’m measuring up. That’s all me – an automatic, internal mechanism. It’s part ego (“But what does this say about me?”), part creative drive (“What more am I capable of?”), and part deep soul yearning (“How can I make an impact, leave a legacy, and matter?”).
這其實不是社交媒體的問題，這是一個攀比的問題。推特以及我使用的其他社交媒體平臺本身沒有任何問題，它們的設計初衷本就不是讓我用來進行自我估量的。這都是我的問題——自動的內部機制。一部分出于自我因素(“但這說到了我什么?”)，一部分出于創(chuàng)新驅動(“我還可以做到更多嗎?”)，還有一部分出于內心深處的吶喊(“我如何才能產生影響、留下遺產并發(fā)揮作用?”)。
And I know it’s not just me. I’ve spent the past year collaborating with leadership coach Tanya Geisler on researching how comparison works, what it costs us, and what it can teach us – and we’ve discovered that it runs rampant among just about every creative, growth-oriented person we know. In our comparison-soaked cultu