Obsessive-Compulsive? On The Limit Of Our Discomfort, That Pesky Inner Voice And The Art Of Conscientious Risks

 

Mathematically speaking, a limit is the value a function approaches as inputs get closer to another given value.  We know they are important in science and engineering for determining an instantaneous rate of change of phenomena such as velocity with respect to time, for example.  But what’s less discussed is the application of limits, and Calculus in general, to behavioral science.

Further, we rely on our conscience (not conscious) to guide us in decision making, especially when the risk potential is high.  We grow up being told by PBS specials that our conscience is a fail-safe mechanism for morality, and you’ve probably seen it personified by an angel and a demon on a protagonist’s shoulders.  But for some, choices aren’t always so binary.

Now, it may be helpful to view my assay of the human body for context.  The criticisms expressed there were aimed at our physical faults but nevertheless apply to mental shortcomings as well.  For fellow risk-averse types our conscience can be quite unreliable in daily situations. 

Such ambiguity is exemplified in a ResearchGate article that shows 15% of internet users surveyed were unable to evaluate the danger of cybercrime.  Thus, it’s helpful to view one’s conscience as a limit: something to get as close to ignoring without completely ignoring it.  Experience has shown me that doing so can produce advantageous results.    

Ironically, my most recent observation of this served as confirmation of events that happened prior.  While taking a Calc II test I had an epiphany.  We were given an improper integral and asked whether it diverged (to infinity) or converged (to a number).  I began entering values in the TI-84 I felt were “close” to the upper limit of integration, 3.  I started with 2.0 and continued with 2.1, 2.2…2.55, 2.7 and even 2.9! But I couldn’t discern a distinct pattern and skipped the question. 

Though, at the last minute I recalled a truth from my studies: behavior can change drastically near the limit.  So, I went back and entered 2.99, 2.999 and so forth.  Indeed, the output values begin to diverge to positive infinity.  In the days after that test, I reflected on the times where I’d almost backed out of a promising situation.  Except in those cases, it was due to misleading feedback from my inner voice, i.e., my conscience.

An instance that’s always stuck with me occurred in junior year of high school.  It was homecoming week and I’d put together an outfit for flashback day.  I found one my little brother had outgrown: a kiddy basketball set with the words “Rim Rocka’” across the chest; it was the kind of clearance rack Americana typical of the now-defunct retailer Goody’s.  Being six feet tall at the time, the getup looked extremely shrunken on me: that was the point.  I was going for NBA player circa 1970; I even threw in a sweatband and basketball.  Problem was, would other people get the joke?

The self-doubt really set in the next morning when I was about to get on the school bus.  That pesky inner voice began to chime in with “What the fuck are you doing?”, and “Are you really going to school like this?” It should be noted I was not apart of the in-crowd, so worries of trying too hard also factored in. 

Fortunately, the reception was better than I could’ve imagined; even the faculty were amused.  But had I not ventured so close to the limit of my comfort zone, I would’ve missed out on one of the funniest days of my life and I also wouldn’t have discovered how much I enjoy making others laugh.

Another occurrence that stands out happened years later after I became a homeowner.  Although the buying process itself counts as a lesson in calculated risks, routine maintenance, especially involving heights will really put your conscience to the test.  This was the case when my floodlight stopped working: couple the hazard of using an extension ladder on uneven ground with the electrical aspect and you’ve got a classic risky situation.  So, I had a friend hold the ladder as I climbed.  Everything was chill until I disconnected the old fixture. 

It was winter and the wind begin to blow extra hard.  Suddenly, those PSA’s warning against doing your own electrical work began to play in my head.  “Am I sure I shut the power off?”, “What if a fire starts later as a result of me connecting the leads wrong?” I wondered.  I paused for a moment and considered getting a pro to install it.  But I knew that paying someone to do something I could do would be equally as risky, financially speaking.  Waiting until I had the money was just as much a gamble: ever since my Honda was stolen, I’m wary about leaving my driveway unlit. 

So, I nervously continued with the task.  Thankfully, the new light worked perfectly and to date, no fire has occurred.  Most importantly though, I was again reminded of how unreliable my conscience can be.  Had I stopped out of fear, I would’ve robbed myself of a solid DIY experience.

Similarly, the first Uber ride I completed served as another testament to the faultiness of conscience.  Note that I only drove for three nights, just to see how sustainable ridesharing was as employment.  Given that I enrolled in college not long after those shifts, it’s clear what my verdict was.  Nevertheless, I distinctly remember the trepidation from that initial trip.  I’d gotten to the rider's area but couldn’t interpret where they lived exactly. 

We began to communicate by phone and that’s what triggered my inner voice.  I told him I was just going to cancel, and he insisted I continue and explained how he’d already paid for the ride anyway.  I’m no expert on the trivia of rideshare payment but that detail didn’t seem accurate and the fact that a rider would push back against my obvious discomfort was concerning. 

Regardless, I followed his directions and made it to the complex.  I slowly pulled in, wondering if I was about to get carjacked or worse.  Note, this wasn’t a “bad” area but sometimes that creeps me out even more: I’ve always had this eerie sense that my end will come unpredictably.  So, getting killed in the bougie/hipster side of town rather than the hood (where I live) fits that prognosis.

“That’s it.  Keep pulling around.” The rider continued.  Finally, I could see him up ahead.  There was a woman with him, and they were headed to a bar, so I assume they were on a date; far from the gang of street pirates my conscience had led me to expect.  Further, the ride went well; they complimented my persistence and wished me luck. 

     By and large, there’s a recurring takeaway from these events, and that is for people like me, our conscience can often prevent us from taking risks that are necessary for growth.  This sentiment was echoed by Dr. Tim Elmore of the Growing Leaders nonprofit in an interview with career coach Kathy Caprino titled “7 Negative Behaviors of First-Year Professionals That Limit Their Success.”  He lists a lack of initiative as the fourth habit stating, “Young staff often failed to demonstrate risk-taking abilities.”

Of course, that advice has a more corporate vibe to it.  Though, as can be seen, the notion holds for socializing, home-improvement and even freelancing.  I also understand that our conscience and the anxiety that results from it exist for a reason: to keep us safe from danger.

Though, like my views on sleep, the inability to discern exactly how close to the event horizon our actions are taking us is a biological design flaw; especially since most great things happen there.  If you can relate, I hope you’ll do your part to stay abreast of issues related to human-computer interfacing, cybernetics and the like.  A link to the FDA’s TMAP (Technology Modernization Action Plan) can also be found here.

In the meantime, calculating real world risks is analog to taking the limit of a function, given that doing so may reveal significant information for marginally close input values.  Though I find the idea that only someone with a Ph.D. can speak on behavioral issues elitist, this post was, nevertheless, a testament to my experiences and should not substitute for professional help. 

Thanks for reading, and as always, stay pissed.