Gut Thinking Should Be Tested

I’ve made decisions on gut for most of my life. My thinking is mostly about that gut feeling and rarely about rigorously testing it. It gets confusing because I can think analytically, but the basis for that analytical thinking, the interpretation of that analytical thinking, is generally formed by my gut, my instincts. This allows me to make quick decisions but can also create dangerous gaps in thinking when important data and reasoning are missing. This can then lead to unnecessary fear, anxiety, and more bad thinking.

Tim Ferriss pointed me to an essay by Henrik Karlsson (henrikkarlsson) about using writing to think. Not writing to sound smart or to publish — writing as a way to catch your own thoughts being wrong. The line that got me was about rigidity. In your head, an idea stays fluid. You believe it at 9 am and contradict it by noon and never notice, because thought is too slippery to pin down. But write it on a page, and it goes stiff. By making things more rigid, it’s easier to break them. The cracks show where your thinking works, where it does not, and, most importantly, where your emotions are overriding logic and reason. Even more importantly, it creates a foundation for a viable plan.

For someone like me, this type of writing and thinking is uncomfortable because I don’t want the cracks to show. The whole appeal of trusting your gut is that you never have to watch your own reasoning fall apart in front of you. You just act, and act decisively, and if it works, you call it instinct. This type of writing, meant to clarify thinking, takes that away. It makes you watch honestly, break down nonsensical thinking, and discover new thoughts and strategies. I also have to admit that I do not like the amount of work and effort needed, which is telling.

So I am going to try it out. Maybe you want to try it out along with me. Here’s the technique, as I understand it and intend to use it, stripped down.

You make a bold, specific claim — Karlsson calls it a conjecture. Not a hedge. Not “the girl or boy may like me.” A real claim you can be wrong about: “The girl or boy will go out on a date with me if I ask.“ Then you stretch it thin — you write out why it might be true, premise by premise, until the reasoning is spread wide enough that you can see where it’s weak. Then you attack it. You go looking for the counterexample, the situation where the opposite happens, the fact that breaks your premise. Writing it all down is critical because it makes your thinking concrete instead of fuzzy. The exact reason we are using this process is to avoid fuzzy thinking.

The point is not to be right. The point is to get a better understanding. You’re trying to kill the idea, lovingly, to see what survives. I am only starting, but so far I can see cracks in my thinking. For example, the fear in my head had never allowed me to see beyond two outcomes: I have a happy life, or my life is unhappy. Binary. Terrifying. But when I write out the conjecture and start stretching it, there is more to see. I start to think more clearly.

I start to think without my fear guiding me.

That’s the part that is important for someone like me. I tend to see things in black and white, even though I know that is not a realistic view of reality. And getting clarity is key. Getting past the fear is key.

The fear wasn’t lying about the danger, but the fear was lying about the shape of the danger. It insisted on the binary. It kept me from the middle ground because reaching it required me to sit down and think in a way I’ve spent my whole life avoiding.

Karlsson writes that the deepest problems don’t show up as logic at all. They show up first as a feeling — a tension in the chest, a fog over the eyes, something that doesn’t feel right when you reread it. And the temptation is always to wave it off, because words are slippery and who has the time. But that uneasy feeling is usually the door.

I’ve felt tension and stress my entire life without truly examining the thinking and feelings behind it. I did not understand the need to analyze and structurally test the underlying thinking behind the stress. This writing technique shows me how, and I am grateful for the tool. Now I have to do the work.

I am not going to stop trusting my gut. But I’ve been treating instinct and examination as enemies, when the trouble has always been that my gut has run unsupervised. Something else is supposed to test whether the idea actually holds. I just never built that something else.

If you’re someone who’s always known the answer before you could explain it, what’s the conjecture you’ve been afraid to write down and watch break?