Luck

There's a sticky problem in the behavioral sciences that no behavioral scientist likes to admit. It's that most behavioral research is conducted by asking questions of its subjects. Chemists don't ask particles why they act as they do when heated. Not in public, anyway. But if they did, they would encounter the same knotty issue that plagues behavioral researchers; questions influence answers.

The reason questions influence answers is because we all want to appear virtuous and intelligent in front of others. My friend Alan once was selected at random to be a Nielsen television home for one week. He was asked to keep a diary of his viewing choices for the week and send them back into Nielsen for compilation into national ratings. We were watching “America’s Funniest Bloopers” and he wrote “Masterpiece Theater” into the diary. I asked Alan why he did this and he explained that he had planned to watch Masterpiece Theater, but as he switched channels an overweight woman falling off a horse into a mud puddle caught his eye, and he was hooked. It wasn’t as if Alan was lying; he meant to do the right thing.

So what if you were asked this question; "Would you rather be highly skilled at something or lucky?" How would you answer? Probably that you would want to be highly skilled. After all, that response indicates virtue, a willingness to work hard and a care for quality -- the things for which we humans are supposed to strive. But would you actually rather be lucky? Heck, there's millions of skillful people living difficult lives.

But then on the other hand, think of someone you know who is adept at some complex task. Have you ever noticed that knowing serenity in their eyes? That thoughtful calm? It can make you envious. Now think of the bozo down the street who hit the Lotto. Who would you rather be? Skill takes time, luck happens. Mastering a physical or mental task is sweaty work. Finding a Picasso at a yard sale isn't. If you ask me, I'd rather be skillful. That's if you ask me.