The Equation of Change
In June, we explore change as an odyssey rather than a mirage. This letter is the second part of this month’s series. You can delve deeper into the introductory piece, The Odyssey of Change to uncover lesser-known aspects and interpretations of this multifaceted topic.
We don’t have a garden in our home. We live so high up that the theory a neighbor told me about why most of my plants die seems almost plausible. He said it was because of the altitude. It looks like these creatures don’t feel rooted enough.
So when my third Ficus Benjamina in a row started losing its leaves, I felt sorry that it either didn’t feel rooted enough where it was placed or that it wouldn't survive. A few weeks ago, I was moving soil in the pots on one of our balconies. I try to create the illusion of an impromptu garden with wild seasonal flowers and unpretentious perennials. A narrow line of greenery, a fence if you will, tall enough to create a feeling of being separated from the ugliness of the Anthropocene, ravaging up in the air and down on the streets.
The ficus, by now more naked than adorned, was witnessing from behind the window the care I was giving to the others of its kind. The guilt crept in because, to be honest, I didn’t take proper care of it. I never really understood its needs. I rarely gave it the nurturing ingredients, and the watering was a mystery I still have to crack. Maybe, after all, it wasn’t the altitude.
I split the pot and cut most of what looked irreparably damaged and dead. I packed the soft, airy soil with white, pearl-like fertilizer and positioned the pot on the balcony, protected from direct sun rays and impetuous storms. Checking to see if something is moving on those emaciated branches has become a morning routine. At the moment, everything is silent and lifeless. But this morning, I noticed two tiny spots of newborn green, extremely delicate and tender. Who knows if I will be linking to this letter five years from now to show a lush, tall plant that is a joy for the eyes to behold?
To understand change, we need to understand behavior and unlearn some of what we know about it
According to social psychologist Kurt Lewin, behavior is a complex realm of multilayered, dynamic interplay between an individual and their environment. He illustrated his theory with a simple equation:
B=f(P,E)
Where:
B = Behavior
f = function of
P = Person
E = Total Environmental Situation
Behavior is a function of the Person in their Environment.
Environment?
Even today, many experts believe that a person’s habits and actions are a result of their inherent nature, not the environment they are in. Leftovers of behaviorism are still deeply ingrained in collective thought after decades of conditioning. We were taught to think about change almost exclusively as an outcome of one’s behavior. Want to change? Direct all your heavy artillery at your behavior and target it mercilessly. Routinely, we oversimplify and get hurt in the process.
For most of us, it’s easier to cling to this belief because it gives us the feeling of being in control of the outcome. But dismissing the impact of environment and context on the process of change—and in general—the behavior equation, or considering it a marginal factor, is the main cause for devolution.
Now, imagine if I applied this reasoning to my ficuses: they died because they failed to change their behavior and improve performance to survive.
Deep down, we know the environment is intrinsic to behavior. Hostile life conditions can alter our cognitive abilities. They can make us more susceptible to illnesses, disorders, and self-destructive dynamics like addictions and toxic relationships. In many cases, our environment drives our behavior even more than our personality. So, maybe the struggle to quit doom-scrolling on social media is not because you were born with too little willpower, but because numbing with a constant stream of junk content is a coping mechanism for dealing with a doomed reality. It’s about time to end the decades-long debate about nature vs. nurture because it has always been about nature AND nurture.
According to Lewin, “E” includes all aspects of the person’s environment at the time of any behavior—an external scenery of changeables—like the physical environment, but also their social environment and contexts. Each environment is ultimately different, as it comprises all of an individual’s experiences and feelings, many of which are unique to them.
On the other hand, we have “P”—the inner panorama of the self. It includes the entirety of the person and not only their personality: their past, their present, their expectations of the future, their capabilities, their motivations, their desires.
Lewin offered the construct of the life space to indicate the sum of P and E, as an indissoluble entirety of the person and their environment
In Lewin’s words, "to understand or predict behavior, the person and their environment have to be considered as one constellation of interdependent factors".
B=f(LS)
When we set out for change, we set out for evolution, but also for bearing with what our life spaces inevitably hold. We aim to maintain a homeostatic-like equilibrium between the experiences that shaped us, the people and ideas we have encountered, our values, beliefs, perceptions, feelings, abilities, skills, norms, rules, connections, positions, belongingness, and relationships. It’s a very hard process, and adding more conflict where awareness, understanding, and compromise are desperately needed can lead to a meltdown.
At the end of the day, our behavior, in all its glorious variety, is a reflection of our life space at a given moment. Always keep an eye on your environment.