Why do we only appreciate things when we can’t have them?
(And what this can teach us at work.)
Have you ever found yourself missing something you previously complained about? The gym you couldn’t be bothered to go to, the journey to visit family or the ordinary routine that suddenly seems rather appealing once you can’t do it?
I was watching Desperate Housewives the other day when a scene made me stop thinking about who was sleeping with whom, who was concealing a crime and how anyone has the time to maintain such immaculate physiques while doing either.
Orson, who has lost the use of his legs following an accident, talks about waiting in bed for his wife to bring him a cup of tea and how much he wishes he could simply get up and make one himself.
It stayed with me because getting up to make a cup of tea is something I do without giving it a second thought. For Orson, it’s about being able to do something for himself that he previously wouldn’t have thought twice about either. The cup of tea matters, but so does having the choice to get up and make it.
It made me wonder how much of what we value has become so ordinary that we barely notice it.
Apparently, I appreciate my washing machine
When our washing machine broke last week, I discovered that an appliance I normally associate with another job to do was actually making my life considerably easier.
There’s nothing wrong with a laundrette, but gathering up the washing, taking it there and waiting for it to finish requires rather more planning than putting a load on at home and getting on with something else. I hadn’t previously given much thought to the 101 other things I could get on with while the washing machine completed its cycle. A trip to the laundrette certainly gave me time to consider them.
The washing hadn’t changed. My appreciation of being able to do it at home – and do stuff in between – had.
Obviously, a broken washing machine bears no comparison with losing your mobility, but both the inconvenience in my own life and the scene with Orson prompted the same question: why do we sometimes need something to become unavailable before we notice what it gives us?
When something is reliably available, we stop giving it much thought; when it disappears, we have to think about everything it made possible.
Remember when going for coffee became an ambition?
I was recently delivering a course on managing reactions to change, and we were discussing how team leaders managed their own reactions alongside those of their teams. When we talked about lockdown, it brought back the fear, uncertainty and speed with which familiar routines disappeared. People were trying to support others while not necessarily knowing what was going to happen themselves.
Before the Covid lockdowns, many of us could go to the gym, visit family or arrange to meet a friend without considering it a particularly remarkable event.
We might even have complained about it. The gym was busy, the coffee was expensive and visiting family involved sitting in traffic, followed by a conversation we’d already had several times.
Then suddenly those ordinary things weren’t available in the same way, and going out for a coffee with a friend began to sound like quite an exciting ambition.
I suspect many of us promised ourselves we’d appreciate those things more when we could do them again, although I also suspect some of us have since resumed complaining about the traffic. I include myself in that. Apparently, noticing something once doesn’t guarantee I’ll continue noticing it indefinitely.
With hindsight, we could also recognise some useful changes that came out of that period. Virtual meetings became an ordinary part of working life, allowing some conversations to happen without the travel, time and expense we’d previously accepted as necessary. That didn’t make every meeting better online, but it gave us more choice about how we worked.
And now that flexibility has become ordinary too. I wonder how much we’d miss it if every meeting once again required us to turn up in person.
Which made me wonder how much of what we have now has quietly become ordinary again.
What do we only notice when it’s missing at work?
We can do something similar at work: become so used to the things that make our day easier that we only notice them when they’re unavailable.
Think about the team member who reliably follows things through, spots a detail everyone else has missed or knows who to contact when a problem needs sorting out. We become accustomed to their contribution because, well, that’s what they do. Their absence may be the first time we properly consider how much easier they usually make our working day.
It might also be the flexibility to work from home, a manager who trusts us to get on with things or a team where we feel comfortable asking questions. We don’t necessarily begin each working day thinking how fortunate we are to have those things, but if the arrangement changes, we can become very aware of what it gave us.
That’s relevant to the conversations I have with leaders about managing reactions to change. What appears to be a small change on paper can remove something people value: familiar relationships, independence, convenience or a routine that fitted around the rest of their life. We might only discover how much it mattered when it’s threatened.
A useful question is, “What does the current arrangement allow people to do that they’re worried about losing?” It gives us more to explore than simply wondering why they’re making such a fuss.
My washing machine, for example, gives me more than clean clothes. It gives me the freedom to do something else while the washing happens. Orson’s cup of tea represents more than a drink. And meeting a friend for coffee gives us something that a perfectly adequate cup at home, on our own, doesn’t.
Can we notice before something goes missing?
I’m not suggesting we spend our days gazing appreciatively at household appliances. Apart from anything else, there’s still the washing to hang out. But perhaps we could occasionally notice what these ordinary things make possible, rather than waiting for their absence to explain it.
The same goes for people. If a colleague makes our working day easier, we can tell them while they’re there. If we enjoy having someone we can phone, we can make the call rather than repeatedly thinking we must get round to it.
I suppose what I’m talking about is remembering to appreciate the ordinary things while they’re still ordinary. When I’m having a difficult day, that might be a laugh with someone, a walk in nature or a play with our chocolate Labrador. Noticing those things doesn’t resolve whatever is troubling me, but it does remind me that they’re part of my day too.
In my coaching, this can mean exploring what someone values in their current situation, what they miss from a previous one or what they want to preserve through a change. It’s much easier to make choices about those things once we’ve recognised what they give us.
So perhaps a useful question is:
“What do I have today that I’d really miss if it wasn’t there tomorrow?”
It could be someone’s company, the freedom to make a decision for yourself or the convenience of putting a load of washing on without leaving the house. Whatever comes to mind, is there something you could do to enjoy it, acknowledge it or make better use of it now?
I’d rather appreciate the coffee while I’m sitting with my friend and recognise the ordinary things while they’re still ordinary. And if I can manage that without waiting for a fictional resident of Wisteria Lane – or a broken washing machine – to remind me, so much the better.
What have you become so used to having that you’ve forgotten how much it matters?