Gaia's Call

Why People Actually Change: The surprising science of motivation—and how it applies to our relationship with Earth

In Part One of this series, we explored something deceptively simple but profoundly important: much of our suffering—and much of our paralysis in the face of global challenges—comes not from the events themselves but from the interpretations we attach to them. If the story running in our minds says the future is doomed (or some similar disempowering story), the most likely result is despair. If the story says nothing we do matters, the most likely result is inaction. These stories we carry around as though they are true quietly shape and limit the possibilities we see. But changing the story in our minds is only the first step. The next question is just as important—and perhaps even more challenging: How do we actually change our behavior? Thanks for reading Unleashed - W. Bradford Swift! This post is public so feel free to share it. If we’re honest, most of us already know what we “should” be doing in many areas of life. We know we should eat better, move our bodies more often, spend less time staring at screens, and perhaps spend more time caring for the natural world that sustains us. Yet knowing what we should do and actually doing it are often two very different things. Information alone rarely changes behavior. If it did, the internet would have already solved most of humanity’s problems. (And yes, some might say such a wealth of information has only served to make matters worse, but that discussion we’ll save for another day.) For many years I assumed that motivating people—including myself—worked in a fairly straightforward way. You explain the problem clearly, you explain why it matters, and then you encourage people to do the right thing. In other words, we tell people what they should do and then we try to persuade them that it’s important. Psychologists sometimes call this the “tell and sell” approach. It sounds reasonable enough, but research suggests that it rarely works as well as we think. In fact, something interesting often happens when people are told what they must do. Instead of becoming motivated, they become resistant. There is a well-documented psychological phenomenon called psychological reactance, which describes our deeply human tendency to push back when we feel our autonomy is threatened. The harder someone insists that we adopt a certain behavior, the more our inner sense of independence starts to protest. Even if we might have agreed with the suggestion originally, the feeling of being pushed can make us want to do the opposite. Anyone who has raised children—or remembers being a child—recognizes this dynamic immediately. Tell a young person that they absolutely must clean their room right now, and suddenly cleaning their room becomes the last thing they want to do. Adults are not so different. Study after study has shown that people often avoid actions they are strongly told to take, even when those actions align with their own interests. This insight sits at the heart of a fascinating motivational approach developed by Yale researcher Michael Pantalon in his work on Instant Influence. His research suggests that people are far more likely to change when they hear themselves say why they want to change. In other words, lasting motivation rarely comes from someone else’s arguments. It arises when individuals connect with their own reasons for taking action. The practical implication of this insight is surprisingly simple but powerful. Instead of asking someone why they should change, ask them why they might want to change. That small shift—from “should” to “might”—makes a remarkable difference. It lowers resistance and respects autonomy. Rather than triggering defensiveness, it invites curiosity and reflection. From there, a short sequence of questions can help people uncover their own motivations. One might begin by asking, “Why might you want to make this change?” The next question explores readiness: “On a scale from one to ten, how ready do you feel you are to try this?” Then comes a clever twist: “Why didn’t you choose a lower number?” That question nudges the mind toward the reasons change already matters. From there the conversation moves toward imagining the positive outcomes of change, exploring why those outcomes are meaningful, and finally identifying one small next step. Notice what is happening in this process. No one is being lectured. No one is being pushed. Instead, people are discovering their own motivations, and once those motivations begin to take shape, action often follows naturally. When I first encountered this research, something clicked immediately in relation to the climate crisis and the broader polycrisis we are navigating today. For decades, much of the environmental conversation has relied heavily on the tell-and-sell approach. Scientists present alarming data. Advocates explain why change is necessary. Leaders urge people to adopt more sustainable behaviors. While these efforts are often well-intentioned and factually correct, they can sometimes trigger the very resistance psychological research predicts. If psychological reactance is real—and the evidence suggests it is—then some of our attempts to motivate environmental action may unintentionally produce the opposite result. People do not want to feel pushed or shamed into caring for the planet. They want to feel that their actions arise from their own values and their own sense of meaning. For example, given that my background and training as a veterinarian was science based, it felt natural to talk about and seek out the facts about climate change, but I found that data did little to motivate me or others into action. It wasn’t until Logan (and later Piper) came along that I realized it was time for me to take action to forward the process of creating a regenerative future that would leave them with a planet they would be proud to call their own. So, what do you deeply care about that might inspire you into action to join the ranks of being an Eco-Guardian-In-Training? Why not leave a comment below? This insight suggests a different kind of conversation about the Earth. Instead of telling people what they must do to save the planet, we might begin with a much simpler and more human question: “Why might protecting the natural world matter to you?” For one person, the answer might involve their children or grandchildren as it did for me. For another, it might be the beauty of a nearby forest or river. For someone else, it may be the simple desire to live a meaningful life that contributes to something larger than oneself. Whatever the answer turns out to be, the motivation becomes personal, and personal motivations are powerful. I was reminded of this recently during a conversation with a friend about the state of the world. We talked about climate disruption, political tensions, and the growing sense that many of our systems are under strain. At one point my friend shrugged and said something I hear fairly often these days: “Honestly, it feels like there’s nothing ordinary people can do.” In the past I might have responded by offering examples of practical actions—reducing consumption, supporting regenerative agriculture, planting trees, or restoring local ecosystems. Instead, I tried a different approach. I simply asked, “What do you care most about protecting in the world?” He paused for a moment, thinking. Then he began telling me about a river where he used to fish with his father when he was a boy. That river, it turned out, held some of his most cherished memories. As he spoke, the entire tone of the conversation shifted. We were no longer discussing abstract environmental problems. We were talking about something he loved. From there, it became much easier to imagine what kinds of actions might help protect places like that river. The motivation didn’t come from my arguments. It came from his memories and his sense of connection. This approach aligns beautifully with the deeper philosophy behind the One Cause project. The Great Untruths of modern culture have encouraged us to see the Earth primarily as a backdrop for human activity or a warehouse of resources to extract. The Four Great Truths invite a different perspective: that life is interconnected, that sufficiency is possible, that reciprocity with nature sustains abundance, and that humanity’s role is stewardship rather than domination. Those truths cannot simply be imposed through arguments or ideology. They have to be rediscovered through experience and relationship. When someone reconnects with a river they love, a forest they remember, a garden they tend, or a piece of land they care for, those truths often begin to reveal themselves naturally. If you’re curious to experiment with this idea yourself, try something simple this week. Choose one small action that might support life in some way—something practical and manageable. Perhaps it involves planting a tree, reducing waste, supporting a local farmer, restoring soil in your garden, or spending time tending a small piece of land. Then ask yourself a few gentle questions. Why might I want to do this? On a scale of one to ten, how ready am I to try it? Why didn’t I choose a lower number? Imagine I did this—what positive outcomes might result? Why are those outcomes important to me? And what might be the smallest next step I could take? Notice that none of these questions force action. They simply invite reflection. Yet once our own reasons become visible, action often begins to feel less like an obligation and more like a natural expression of who we are. In the final article of this series, we’ll bring these two insights together. Changing the story in our minds opens the door to possibility. Discovering our own motivations ignites action. Together they can help us become something Buckminster Fuller once described with a beautiful metaphor: trimtabs—small forces capable of helping turn much larger systems. And in a time of planetary transition, the world may need many trimtabs. P.S. — A New Ecosystem & A New Conversation By the time this podcast episode airs, Ann and I will be with Logan and Piper for a much-needed—and deeply earned—family beach trip. It will be their first time experiencing an entirely new ecosystem in such an immersive way: the rhythms of the ocean, the pull of the tides, the vastness of something both playful and powerful. I have a feeling we’ll all be learning something. Shortly after we return, on Friday, May 29, a new episode of Gaia’s Call 2.0 will go live—one that feels like a natural continuation of everything we’ve been exploring together in this series. Marla (of the Eco-Chapter) and I will be joined by Manda Scott, host of the Accidental Gods podcast, for a conversation that goes right to the heart of this moment: * Why are we in this mess? * What role do our deepest fears and cultural patterns play? * What can one person actually do? * And perhaps most importantly—what role does creativity play in shaping what comes next? Manda speaks powerfully about what she calls “the imagination revolution”—the idea that creativity isn’t optional in times like these… it’s essential. It may, in fact, be the leading edge of change. And as I watch Logan and Piper encounter the ocean for the first time, I’ll be reminded that imagination begins exactly there—in wonder, in relationship, in direct experience with the living world. Be one of the first to hear this powerful conversation on imagination, creativity, and the future we’re shaping together. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wbradfordswift.substack.com/subscribe [https://wbradfordswift.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2]

Update on Our Moves - Literally

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Changing the Story, Changing the Future: The Inner Shift That Makes the Great Turning Possible

Part 1: The Story in Our Heads Is Shaping the World How our interpretations fuel despair—or possibility Not long ago I was outside in the yard with my grandson Logan, who had discovered something that instantly captured his five-year-old imagination. It was nothing particularly dramatic—just a small worm wriggling through the soil after a rainstorm. But to Logan, it might as well have been a dragon. He crouched down, studying it carefully, narrating what he thought the worm might be thinking and where it might be going. Piper, his little sister, soon joined us, equally fascinated. Watching them, I was reminded of something I think many of us lose as adults. Children don’t just see the world—they relate to it. The worm isn’t an object. It’s a character in the unfolding drama of life. The tree in the yard isn’t scenery; it’s a companion in the landscape of their play. Everything feels alive, meaningful, connected. This moment with my grandchildren reminded me of something we don’t learn from books… we remember it by being alive. How our interpretations fuel despair—or possibility Over the years I’ve developed a little morning ritual. Coffee in hand and a bowl of fruit in front of me for a few quiet minutes before my wife, Ann, wakes up. Often Rascal—my loyal canine companion—is curled up nearby. The early mountain light filtering through the trees here in the mountains of North Carolina. And if I’m honest, sometimes my mind wanders through the headlines of the world we’re living in: climate disruption, political turmoil, economic uncertainty, wildfires, floods, storms. Many of us feel it now—that sense that something larger than a typical “rough patch in history” is unfolding. I often refer to it as the polycrisis—a convergence of ecological, economic, social, and spiritual disruptions all happening at once. It can be a lot to take in. Some mornings, if I’m not careful, my mind can start telling a story about it all. A story that has become all too familiar. To borrow a phrase from my own childhood: Our world is going to hell in a handbasket. Maybe you’ve heard versions of those stories in your own mind as well. Recently, two articles I happened to read on the same morning stopped me in my tracks. Something about them felt deeply connected—not just to each other, but to the work many of us are trying to do in this time of planetary transition. And it dawned on me that the climate crisis—and the broader polycrisis—may not just be a technological or political challenge. It may also be a story challenge. One of the articles explored something psychologists have been saying for a long time: much of our suffering does not come directly from events themselves, but from the interpretations we attach to them. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus put it bluntly centuries ago: “It’s not things that upset us but our judgments about things.” When something happens in our lives, our minds almost instantly begin constructing a story about what it means. A friend doesn’t text back. A project fails. A troubling news headline appears. The event itself may last seconds, but the story we tell ourselves about it can last for years. Psychologists refer to these internal patterns as schemas—mental frameworks built from past experiences that quietly shape how we see the world and ourselves. Over time those schemas become so familiar that we stop recognizing them as interpretations. They begin to feel like reality itself. Not interpretations, but facts. When it comes to the climate crisis and ecological disruption, I notice a similar dynamic playing out in the collective psyche. The facts are serious. We are destabilizing the climate. We are losing biodiversity. We are drawing down natural systems faster than they regenerate. These realities deserve our full attention. But the interpretation layer often goes much further. It turns into a narrative of inevitability: We’re doomed. It’s too late. Human beings are the problem. Those interpretations can quietly shut down the very thing we need most right now—agency. If the story in our head says nothing matters, why would we act? But what if those interpretations are not the only story available to us? One of the most powerful ideas I’ve encountered over the years comes from Viktor Frankl, the psychiatrist who survived the Nazi concentration camps. He wrote that between stimulus and response there is a space, and in that space lies our power to choose our response. That tiny space may be one of the most important places in the human experience. Because inside that space something extraordinary becomes possible. We can notice the story our mind is telling and decide whether or not we want to keep believing it. The article I read put it another way: our thoughts are powerful, but they are not us. They are simply things our minds produce. Once we recognize that distinction, something begins to loosen. We don’t have to fight every anxious thought that appears. We can simply notice it. Ah…there’s my mind telling the “nothing will change” story again. Then we come back to the present moment—to our breath, our body, and the living world around us. When I step back from the daily news cycle and look at the larger arc of human history, another story begins to come into view. Yes, we are facing unprecedented challenges. But we are also witnessing something else: millions of people waking up to their relationship with the Earth. Young people planting forests. Families restoring soil. Communities creating repair cafés and sharing networks. Scientists, farmers, and Indigenous wisdom keepers working together to regenerate ecosystems. In the language of the One Cause project, we might say that we are slowly rediscovering what I call the Four Great Truths: that life is interconnected, that sufficiency is possible, that reciprocity with nature is essential, and that our role as humans is stewardship rather than domination. These truths do not erase the challenges we face, but they do change the story from doom to responsibility—from despair to participation. Reading those two articles together sparked an idea that I’d like to explore with you over the next few weeks. Because the second article introduced another fascinating insight: if changing the story in our minds is the first step, the next step is understanding how people actually change their behavior. And it turns out the science of motivation is surprisingly counterintuitive. It’s not about telling people what they should do. In fact, the more we push people, the more they resist. Real change tends to happen when people discover their own reasons for acting. This is Part 1 of a 3-part exploration. Part 2 goes into what actually motivates real change—and it might surprise you. That insight will be the focus of Part Two of this series. Together, these two ideas—changing the story in our heads and discovering our deeper motivations—may help unlock something incredibly important for this moment in history. Not just awareness, but action. What story about the world have you noticed running in your own mind lately? Until then, I’d like to invite you into a small experiment. The next time you encounter a troubling news headline or feel anxiety about the state of the world, pause for a moment and ask yourself three simple questions. First: what actually happened? Just the facts. Second: what story is my mind telling about it? And third: is there another interpretation that leaves room for possibility? Not blind optimism—just possibility. If you try this simple experiment, I’d love to hear what you discover. Have you ever caught yourself telling a “nothing will change” story? What helped you shift it—if anything? Because the future we create will depend, in no small part, on the stories we choose to believe—and the actions those stories inspire. In the next article we’ll explore something fascinating: why people almost never change when they’re told what to do, and the surprisingly simple questions that can ignite real motivation—for ourselves, our families, and perhaps even the wider culture. Until then, I’d love to hear from you. What story about the future of our world have you noticed running through your own mind lately? And what might a more life-affirming version of that story look like? This is a public episode. 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Our planet’s Resources - Limited or Unlimited?

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We’re in the 4th Turning

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