The Quiet Grind

In football, there is a cult around the idea of the “studious quarterback.” Tom Brady is a good example of this, as was Peyton Manning back in his playing days. So much of these guys’ public image is about work ethic. They show up at the facility early. They study film until their eyes are bloodshot. They work out maniacally, even in the off-season. The public is captivated by this image of asceticism, the warrior-monk flagellating his body so he can then show up in the arena and deliver high-quality, ass-kicking entertainment.

A while back, when he was still playing, I read a thoughtful interview with Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo where he took a subtle shot at all this. Romo’s persona throughout his career was never as intense as either Brady or Manning. He has an easy grin and comes across as a happy-go-lucky type. And in referring to his own work ethic to the interviewer, he said that it’s a “quiet grind.” That is, he also spends plenty of time studying film and hitting the gym, he just doesn’t make a big deal about it. So, if he’s coming out of the weight room with a towel around his neck, maybe he just heads for the shower, instead of finding a reporter and talking about the workout he just did.

There’s something to be said for the quiet grind. For chipping away quietly, instead of being theatrical about it.

This doesn’t just apply to football. As a denizen of a corporate IT department, I can’t help but notice how performative 21st century office work is. Everybody is so visibly busy – responding to emails at all hours of day, schedule crammed full of calls, never spending too much time on one project because there’s so much else to do.

But is shooting off snappy email responses really hard work? Or maintaining five simultaneous Slack chats? Or running your mouth in back-to-back-to-back meetings? That type of thing is busy, yes. And it’s manic. And it makes your workday one long string of novelty-induced dopamine hits. But how much value can you truly produce in such a hectic, distractable state?

Real work – the kind that creates new and useful things – is not manic. It’s quiet. It’s focused. And when you’re doing real work, you don’t need eyeballs on you. In fact, eyeballs are a distraction.

You see this with writing, too. Go on Twitter and you’ll run across hashtags like this:

#amwriting

#wordcount

#writerslife

These posts – like all posts – are an attempt to get eyeballs, and the thing about eyeballs is that they worm their way into your brain. If you post #amwriting, then sit down and try to focus, the whole time you’re wondering, in the back of your mind, “I wonder who’s seen my post. I wonder if anybody’s responded yet.” You can’t help it. You’re human. But if you’re not careful, you’re back on the app. You know, just to check. And then that focus is shattered.

Oh well. Fuck it. Might as well watch cat videos and lip sync mashups. Maybe I’ll focus tomorrow.

Of course, I’m sure some people find social media useful for accountability. If your motivation for posting #wordcount is to make sure you actually get 1,000 words today, then more power to you. But if the motivation is to show off how hard you’re working, or to “brand” yourself as a writer, or to try and get a coveted Stephen King retweet, then maybe hold off. Sometimes it’s okay to just open up your Word document and start typing. No one else needs to know you’re doing it. You know.

The quiet grind means you’re satisfied with the work itself, instead of accolades. And when the work itself is enough, that’s when you can go the distance.