Homework Pass Syndrome

When I was a kid, my teachers would sometime issue slips of paper to students as a reward for good behavior. These little decorated slips entitled the owner to escape any given homework assignment. Forgot to do that worksheet? Just turn in your homework pass and you'd get a 100% for that assignment. They were the real life equivalent of a "get out of jail free" card and I coveted them. I would paper clip each homework pass into the relevant class' folder in the front as a comforting reminder that I had a safety net; a rainy day backup plan in case I played video games the night before and forgot to complete my algebra exercises.

I had a privileged childhood and was lovingly prevented from having a job or dealing with real world problems until I was in high school. Before the age of 15, school was my first and only responsibility. So homework passes were even more valuable to me than hard currency would become in late high school. Almost anyone willing to flip burgers at the local McDonalds [1] could earn $20 to spend on Friday night, but only the best students ever built up a homework pass stash. They were socially exclusive in a way that money has never managed to be.

And that's why I developed a problem.

I craved the social affirmation and feeling of freedom that homework passes granted. I was so addicted that I was almost never able to use them. Spending one meant a loss of control. The next time I forgot an assignment or needed a small grade boost, I wouldn't have that little piece of paper to protect me. I finished most classes that had homework pass systems with a neat stack of slips which immediately became useless when I switched teachers.

In college, where homework passes had been phased out, I intentionally built up relationships with my professors to ensure I'd have wiggle room if I bombed the next exam. They'd at least know I tried and cared and in a sea of uncaring undergrads, I learned that building up the reputation of being an earnest, hard working student was more valuable than any homework pass had ever been.

Around this time, I started dating the woman that eventually became my wife. On one of our early dates, I brought up my homework pass addiction. 

"You did that too?! I thought I was the only one who hoarded those things!" she exclaimed as though admitting a dark secret. I had found a kindred spirit; another soul whose desire for recognition and safety had reached a pathological level well before adulthood.

But far from being proud of our resourcefulness and hard work, Rebecca and I were ashamed of our sordid past of homework pass curation. The whole purpose of a homework pass was to reward students for good work and allow them a bit of freedom in the future. But paradoxically, the kids most likely to earn them were the least likely to use or enjoy them. During childhood, Rebecca and I had earned the right to take a night off and enjoy ourselves, yet we did the opposite: we doubled down and worked extra hard to avoid having to ever use the privilege. In the end, homework passes became like Tolkien's ring: a possession we clung to at all costs that did nothing but enslave us.

Rebecca and I eventually dubbed this behavior "Homework Pass Syndrome," and made a concerted effort to fight it.

Adults aren't given homework passes, but over-achievers find ways to unhealthily stockpile goods against some imagined future catastrophe. Most adult homework passes are monetary: we max out our 401k and IRA contributions, we obsess about our saving rate, we figure out how to retire at age 30, we build up college funds for our unborn children, we wait to buy a car until we can afford to pay all cash, and we shoot for 50% down payments on our homes. But we Homework Pass Syndrome sufferers also safeguard our future in other ways: we buy gifts for our loved ones ahead of time in case we forget later. We go to professional networking events to meet potential employers when we aren't job searching. We give talks at conferences to build up our resumes. We maintain personal websites, deepen our portfolios, and write books. We do anything we can to minimize the chances that we'll have to stoop too low when we need something from anyone else in the future. 

Society awards and applauds these sorts of behaviors, but it's toxic to get carried away in the pursuit of delayed gratification. In middle school, if a class ended and Becca or I had homework passes left over, we would just feel a bit of disappointment and move on. If we forego living our lives now to accumulate wealth or influence, we may reach old age and regret having not taken advantage of our health and youth.

As we meander our way through our 30s, we are more aware than ever how quickly life can pass us by if we don't spend the occasional homework pass, play hooky from our homework and have fun. So to those who save their marshmallows, remember that homework passes, money, and influence only contribute to your life if you're willing to spend them once in a while. To hell with your algebra homework, let's travel the world.

[1] I flipped burgers at McDonalds the summer after my senior year and learned firsthand how little was expected of fast food workers. When I left for college, I handed in 2 weeks notice and my boss laughed and said it was the first time she'd ever been told when an employee planned to leave.

Effort and Reward: Correlation, Not Causation

A few weeks back I was watching The Queen of Versailles, which is an independent documentary about billionaire timeshare mogul David Siegel and his quest to build the largest house in America. At the beginning of the movie, the director interviews Siegel about how Westgate Resorts got it's start. He talked about how he founded the company when he was young and naive, worked like hell, and managed to grow the company to billions in sales. What struck me about his description was how similar it is to the way I describe working on my first startup, with one critical difference: Skritter is a tiny bit less less profitable.

This got me thinking about the nature of effort vs reward. It's a common misconception among entrepreneurs that the harder you work, the more successful you become. This workaholic mentality causes people to sideline important aspects of their lives to maximize a perceived chance to make it big. I believe that effort and reward are correlated. If your goal is to become a millionaire, you are far more likely to reach your goal working very hard on a bunch of ventures than if you stay at a job that allows you to relax and coast. The age old motto "God helps those that help themselves," seems true.

But the the amount of reward you enjoy for your effort is randomly distributed. If it weren't, David Siegel of Westgate fame would have had to work a thousand times harder/longer than someone whose startup makes $1M/yr. Since that clearly isn't possible in a normal human lifespan, I'm forced to conclude that there is a big component of luck involved in the rewards anyone reaps from their efforts.

Having a deep understanding of that fact is important because it helps workaholics like me from over-investing in work. The truth is that I probably stand about the same chance of retiring early from a new venture whether I pace myself or work 100 hour weeks. Effort is important for success, but marginal effort is just that, and it seems a horrible waste to labor under the delusion that another few hours of work will be the difference between a decent living and early retirement.