Carrots Motivational Quotes

Bedtime makes you realize how completely incapable you are of being in charge of another human being. My children act like they’ve never been to sleep before. “Bed? What’s that? No, I’m not doing that.” They never want to go to bed. This is another thing that I will never have in common with my children. Every morning when I wake up, my first thought is, “When can I come back here?” It’s the carrot that keeps me motivated. Sometimes going to bed feels like the highlight of my day. Ironically, to my children, bedtime is a punishment that violates their basic rights as human beings. Once the lights are out, you can expect at least an hour of inmates clanging their tin cups on the cell bars.

Carrots & sticks are so last century. Drive says for 21st century work, we need to upgrade to autonomy, mastery & purpose.

The beginning of change doesn’t come from motivation and dangling carrots. It begins with being clear about what you want to get away from.

To ensure a well-motivated participant, Pfungst rewarded Clever Hans with a small piece of bread, carrot or sugar each time he responded (interestingly, this same procedure still works well with most undergraduate students today).

The science shows that . . . typical twentieth-century carrot-and-stick motivators—things we consider somehow a “natural” part of human enterprise—can sometimes work. But they’re effective in only a surprisingly narrow band of circumstances. The science shows that “if-then” rewards . . . are not only ineffective in many situations, but can also crush the high-level, creative, conceptual abilities that are central to current and future economic and social progress. The science shows that the secret to high performance isn’t our biological drive (our survival needs) or our reward-and-punishment drive, but our third drive—our deep-seated desire to direct our own lives, to extend and expand our abilities, and to fill our life with purpose.

Our current business operating system— which is built around external, carrot-and-stick motivators—doesn’t work and often does harm. We need an upgrade. And the science shows the way. This new approach has three essential elements: (1) Autonomy—the desire to direct our own lives; (2) Mastery—the urge to make progress and get better at something that matters; and (3) Purpose—the yearning to do what we do in the service of something larger than ourselves.

Cocktail Party Summary: When it comes to motivation, there's a gap between what science knows and what business does. Our current business operating system- which is built around external, carrot-and-stick motivators-- doesn't work and often does harm. We need an upgrade. And the science shows the way. This new approach has three essential elements: 1) autonomy-- the desire to direct our own lives, 2) mastery-- the urge to make progress and get better at something that matters, and 3) purpose-- the yearning to do what we do in the service of something larger than ourselves.

Despite its greater sophistication and higher aspirations, Motivation 2.0 still wasn’t exactly ennobling. It suggested that, in the end, human beings aren’t much different from livestock—that the way to get us moving in the right direction is by dangling a crunchier carrot or wielding a sharper stick. But what this operating system lacked in enlightenment, it made up for in effectiveness. It worked well—extremely well. Until it didn’t. As

Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us, Daniel Pink reviews the research on human motivation for the past forty years and concludes that most businesses are ignoring what the scientific evidence clearly suggests they should do.7 They continue to manage by relying heavily on extrinsic motivators, symbolized by the proverbial carrot-and-stick approach—the use of incentives and threats. But extrinsic motivators are only effective when the work lacks inherent meaning and the potential for creativity and satisfaction, such as with assembly lines where simple rote tasks must be repeated without end.

But motivation, through no fault of its own, has been masqueraded about town as the solution to personal growth. It's like if I told you carrots cured cancer. Carrots are good for you, but they won't likely cure anyone of cancer. So now this good thing (carrot) has been made into an enemy of the truth and is deceiving people. In this way, motivation is an evil carrot.

Harvard Business School’s Teresa Amabile have found that external rewards and punishments—both carrots and sticks—can work nicely for algorithmic tasks. But they can be devastating for heuristic ones.

How an Outsider Becomes an Insider Here's a letter I got from my Platinum Member, Jerry Jones, president of a direct marketing and coaching company providing services to dentists nationwide: “Back in 1997, after about two months of owning this business, I read the ‘10 Smart Questions’ in this chapter. The list exposed my biggest handicap in marketing to dentists: not being one of them. Because I'm not the customer in my niche, I have had to work hard at understanding what motivates them, keeps them awake at night, what the current desirable carrot is to them. Here are six things I do to stay in that frame of mind. And I'm apparently managing to do it, because I am frequently accused of being a dentist! I read every industry publication every month. I visit websites that host discussion forums for dentists. I subscribe to e-mail groups where only dentists communicate back and forth. I attend industry functions, conventions, seminars, and trade shows. I ‘play prospect’ with other product and service providers to dentists. I routinely ‘mastermind’ with dentists and with other marketers and vendors who provide services to the profession. I think this is so important that I even invested in three dental practices to get more firsthand understanding and to have laboratories to test my new strategies, ideas, direct-mail campaigns, and products.

But now, after the news of Barthelme’s death, this simple fact of presence or absence, which I had begun to recognize in a small way already, now became the single most important supplemental piece of information I felt I could know about a writer: more important than his age when he wrote a particular work, or his nationality, his sex (forgive the pronoun), political leanings, even whether he did or did not have, in someone’s opinion, any talent. Is he alive or dead? — just tell me that. The intellectual surface we offer to the dead has undergone a subtle change of texture and chemistry; a thousand particulars of delight and fellow-feeling and forbearance begin reformulating themselves the moment they cross the bar. The living are always potentially thinking about and doing just what we are doing: being pulled through a touchless car wash, watching a pony chew a carrot, noticing that orange scaffolding has gone up around some prominent church. The conclusions they draw we know to be conclusions drawn from how things are now. Indeed, for me, as a beginning novelist, all other living writers form a control group for whom the world is a placebo. The dead can be helpful, needless to say, but we can only guess sloppily about how they would react to this emergent particle of time, which is all the time we have. And when we do guess, we are unfair to them. Even when, as with Barthelme, the dead have died unexpectedly and relatively young, we give them their moment of solemnity and then quickly begin patronizing them biographically, talking about how they “delighted in” x or “poked fun at” y — phrases that by their very singsong cuteness betray how alien and childlike the shades now are to us. Posthumously their motives become ludicrously simple, their delights primitive and unvarying: all their emotions wear stage makeup, and we almost never flip their books across the room out of impatience with something they’ve said. We can’t really understand them anymore. Readers of the living are always, whether they know it or not, to some degree seeing the work through the living writer’s own eyes; feeling for him when he flubs, folding into their reactions to his early work constant subauditional speculations as to whether the writer himself would at this moment wince or nod with approval at some passage in it. But the dead can’t suffer embarrassment by some admission or mistake they have made. We sense this imperviousness and adjust our sympathies accordingly. Yet in other ways the dead gain by death. The level of autobiographical fidelity in their work is somehow less important, or, rather, extreme fidelity does not seem to harm, as it does with the living, our appreciation for the work. The living are “just” writing about their own lives; the dead are writing about their irretrievable lives, wow wow wow. Egotism, monomania, the delusional traits of Blake or Smart or that guy who painted the electrically schizophrenic cats are all engaging qualities in the dead.

The Rhythm of Relationships It’s not a mystery that there are certain people with whom we "click" and others with whom we don’t. In the movie, Forrest Gump, Forrest proclaimed that he and Jenny got along like "peas and carrots." I once heard Tony Robbins say that if you are with the right person, a relationship does not take a lot of work. When relationships are in rhythm, everything is made easier.

When it comes to motivation, there's a gap between what science knows and what business does. Our current business operating system which is built around external, carrot-and-stick motivators doesn't work and often does harm. We need an upgrade. And the science shows the way. This new approach has three essential elements: (1) Autonomy the desire to direct our own lives; (2) Mastery the urge to get better and better at something that matters; and (3) Purpose the yearning to do what we do in the service of something larger than ourselves.

Hang out with people who make you want to up your game.

Rescue dogs are trained to perform such responses on command, often in repulsive situations, such as fires, that they would normally avoid unless the entrapped individuals are familiar. Training is accomplished with the usual carrot-and stick method. One might think, therefore, that the dogs perform like Skinnerian rats, doing what has been reinforced in the past, partly out of instinct, partly out of a desire for tidbits. If they save human lives, one could argue, they do so for purely selfish reasons. The image of the rescue dog as a well-behaved robot is hard to maintain, however, in the face of their attitude under trying circumstances with few survivors, such as in the aftermath of the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. When rescue dogs encounter too many dead people, they lose interest in their job regardless of how much praise and goodies they get. This was discovered by Caroline Hebard, the U.S. pioneer of canine search and rescue, during the Mexico City earthquake of 1985. Hebard recounts how her German shepherd, Aly, reacted to finding corpse after corpse and few survivors. Aly would be all excited and joyful if he detected human life in the rubble, but became depressed by all the death. In Hebard's words, Aly regarded humans as his friends, and he could not stand to be surrounded by so many dead friends: "Aly fervently wanted his stick reward, and equally wanted to please Caroline, but as long as he was uncertain about whether he had found someone alive, he would not even reward himself. Here in this gray area, rules of logic no longer applied." The logic referred to is that a reward is just a reward: there is no reason for a trained dog to care about the victim's condition. Yet, all dogs on the team became depressed. They required longer and longer resting periods, and their eagerness for the job dropped off dramatically. After a couple of days, Aly clearly had had enough. His big brown eyes were mournful, and he hid behind the bed when Hehard wanted to take him out again. He also refused to eat. All other dogs on the team had lost their appetites as well. The solution to this motivational problem says a lot about what the dogs wanted. A Mexican veterinarian was invited to act as stand-in survivor. The rescuers hid the volunteer somewhere in a wreckage and let the dogs find him. One after another the dogs were sent in, picked up the man's scent, and happily alerted, thus "saving" his life. Refreshed by this exercise, the dogs were ready to work again. What this means is that trained dogs rescue people only partly for approval and food rewards. Instead of performing a cheap circus trick, they are emotionally invested. They relish the opportunity to find and save a live person. Doing so also constitutes some sort of reward, but one more in line with what Adam Smith, the Scottish philosopher and father of economics, thought to underlie human sympathy: all that we derive from sympathy, he said, is the pleasure of seeing someone else's fortune. Perhaps this doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot to many people, and apparently also to some bighearted canines.

highly engaged employees will remain motivated despite adverse circumstances, such as limited resources, equipment failures, time pressures, and so on. In contrast, employees with low levels of engagement will tend to appear motivated only under favorable conditions or when attempting to reach tangible, short-term goals that will yield personal reward.

The implications for motivation are vast. Researchers such as Harvard Business School’s Teresa Amabile have found that external rewards and punishments—both carrots and sticks—can work nicely for algorithmic tasks. But they can be devastating for heuristic ones. Those sorts of challenges—solving novel problems or creating something the world didn’t know it was missing—depend heavily on Harlow’s third drive.

Thane turned to the side to look at me. “Good try, boy-o… but not good enough!” he yelled, then he fed his pig a chunk of his carrot and they boosted off to the finish line. I gasped as my pig finished off my carrot and we started slowing down. “Nooooooo!” Thane zoomed off to the pig stable and left me in his dust. My pig was done with the carrot now, so he lost motivation to listen to me. He started wandering all over the place, probably looking for more food. “No, go straight! Go straight! The finish line is over there!” I yelled. Oink! The crowd cheered in an uproar as Thane crossed the finish line.

Giving people pride in their work rather than trying to motivate them with carrots and sticks is an essential element of a high-performance culture.4

The best use of money as a motivator is to pay people enough to take the issue of money off the table. But once we’ve cleared the table, carrots and sticks can achieve precisely the opposite of their intended aims.

Whenever I have to pick something off the floor I bend down, keeping my legs straight. Dutifully touching your toes fifty times every day is a crashing bore. But there are almost as many times when something has to be picked up anyhow — or a lower drawer has to be opened — so I automatically do it in a manner that keeps me fit. I try to make a graceful gesture out of reaching for things on high shelves, too. I don’t make it easier by dragging out a little step stool. While I’m on the phone I take a small bottle — a Pepsi bottle, of course — and roll it back and forth under my instep. I touch first the heel to the floor, then the toe, ten times for each foot. [...] These exercises strengthen the foot, stretch the calf muscles, and result in lovely feet and legs. When I’m standing — scraping carrots, or just waiting somewhere — I dig my heels into the ground, draw myself up to my best posture, and pull my stomach muscles in hard. [...] When I’m dictating to my secretary I may raise my elbows level with my shoulders and press the heels of my hands hard against each other. (The whole idea behind isometrics is to make the muscles work against each other.) This exercise, lasting for just six to ten seconds, is wonderful for the inside of the upper arms — the place that can go flabby almost overnight and make it impossible to wear sleeveless dresses. For the backs of the upper arms, do the same exercise with the hands raised just above the level of the forehead.

The carrot and the stick are pervasive and persuasive motivators. But if you treat people like donkeys, they will perform like donkeys. —John Whitmore, Coaching for Performance, GROWing Human Potential and Purpose

If someone’s baseline rewards aren’t adequate or equitable, her focus will be on the unfairness of her situation and the anxiety of her circumstance. You’ll get neither the predictability of extrinsic motivation nor the weirdness of intrinsic motivation. You’ll get very little motivation at all. But once we’re past that threshold, carrots and sticks can achieve precisely the opposite of their intended aims. (Pink, 2009, p. 35)

CARROTS AND STICKS: The Seven Deadly Flaws 1. They can extinguish intrinsic motivation. 2. They can diminish performance. 3. They can crush creativity. 4. They can crowd out good behavior. 5. They can encourage cheating, shortcuts, and unethical behavior. 6. They can become addictive. 7. They can foster short-term thinking.

None of these points mean that students cannot be recognized and celebrated for their success. The key is to not hold it out as a “carrot” but, instead, to provide it as an unexpected “bonus” (Chai, 2009).

When people aren’t producing, companies typically resort to rewards or punishment. “What you haven’t done is the hard work of diagnosing what the problem is. You’re trying to run over the problem with a carrot or a stick,” Ryan explains. That doesn’t mean that SDT unequivocally opposes rewards. “Of course, they’re necessary in workplaces and other settings,” says Deci. “But the less salient they are made, the better. When people use rewards to motivate, that’s when they’re most demotivating.” Instead, Deci and Ryan say we should focus our efforts on creating environments for our innate psychological needs to flourish.

We know that human beings are not merely smaller, slower, better-smelling donkeys trudging after that day’s carrot. We know—if we’ve spent time with young children or remember ourselves at our best—that we’re not destined to be passive and compliant. We’re designed to be active and engaged. And we know that the richest experiences in our lives aren’t when we’re clamoring for validation from others, but when we’re listening to our own voice—doing something that matters, doing it well, and doing it in the service of a cause larger than ourselves. So, in the end, repairing the mismatch and bringing our

Giving people pride in their work rather than trying to motivate them with carrots and sticks is an essential element of a high-performance culture.