How the Twin Desires of Connection and Autonomy Motivate Us to Success

Humans are unique among all the animals in our capacity to envision the future. One of the most important tasks our large brain evolved to solve is to imagine what might happen later today, tomorrow, or next year and then prepare for it. Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of our preparations is when we change ourselves—when we decide what sort of person we need to be in our imagined future and then set about becoming that person.

LeBron James and Stephen Curry obviously had enormous potential in basketball, but what made them two of the greatest players of all time was their recognition of their potential during childhood and their single-minded focus from that point forward to reach it. Like all truly great performers, they shaped their own future by training relentlessly to become the people they wanted to be.

Our capacity to transform our actual self into our aspirational self is a large part of the reason we evolved a need for autonomy. From early childhood, our sense of who we are becomes focused on our personal attributes that have the best chance of leading us to success. Domains in which we stand out in a positive way become central aspects of our self-definition, in part because we receive positive feedback from others.

Once these abilities become central to our self-concept, they start to occupy our minds, they become more fun and interesting, and we exercise them whenever possible. They also become aspects of our future imagined self—one of our possible selves—and visions of this future self motivate us to turn our dreams into reality.

Autonomy is critical for the development of competence, as our sense of autonomy leads us to choose who we want to be, which in turn motivates us to become that person. Recall that I defined autonomy as (1) self-governance; (2) choosing a path based on your own needs, preferences, or skills; and (3) making independent decisions. The key factor linking these aspects of autonomy is the idea that autonomous decisions focus first and foremost on your own goals. Following a path that someone else lays out for you isn’t autonomous unless you agree it is in fact best suited to you. Autonomy isn’t about ignoring good advice, it’s about placing your own preferences first.

To return to the idea of intrinsic motivation, we find inherent joy in developing our skills and seeing our self-improvement. That joy is highly motivating and is one of the primary tools through which evolution shapes our behavior. This effect is strongest in domains that we choose to pursue, rather than domains that are thrust upon us.

For example, I might have been pleased to see that I’d become a better administrator after a few years as our department head, but I never wanted the job in the first place, so I wasn’t that excited when I got better at balancing budgets and competing demands. I was excited, however, when I improved as a teacher and my students began to learn more effectively. I went into academics to teach and conduct research, not to administrate, so teaching is much more intrinsically rewarding to me than managing.

As you consider these processes, don’t forget that evolution shaped our thoughts and emotions to make us successful, it didn’t shape our minds to give us insight into our own motives. I believe that I find teaching rewarding because it’s satisfying to help people understand new material and give them a new way to view the world. For that matter, I believe that I enjoy rock climbing because it’s challenging mentally and physically to find a way up the cliff face. Had I been born with a better head for numbers and organizational charts, I suspect I’d find administration rewarding because it allows me to improve so many lives by creating a well-run department. And had I been endowed with greater height, I suspect I’d enjoy basketball more than rock climbing, and again I’d have some sort of post-hoc reason for that preference.

The key point is that evolution shapes what we find intrinsically rewarding by making us happy when we develop skills that give us our best chance of being valuable to others. Our sense of autonomy is critical in that process, as it keeps us on the lookout for opportunities to pursue domains in which we might excel. We may not realize that we’re on the lookout, but when opportunity knocks, our need for autonomy ensures that we notice. I still vividly remember the first time I encountered what became my domain of positive distinctiveness. It was a single sentence uttered in 1969 that would have been entirely forgettable to anyone who overheard it. But it gained enormous prominence in my mind because it suggested a new way of looking at myself that I hadn’t considered before.

I was in first grade and standing in the lunch line next to Ronny, the coolest kid in my class. One of Ronny’s friends came over to say hello, at which point (in a striking display of manners for a first grader) he introduced me, saying, “This is Billy,” followed by, “He’s the smartest kid in our class.” It might sound strange, but it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be smart or that being smart is such a valuable trait that it would be noticed and mentioned by someone like Ronny. From that day forward, I started to care about being smart. I also began paying attention to my performance in the classroom and how it compared to others, as I sought opportunities to test and develop my academic abilities.

This process also works in the opposite direction, by clarifying when we are wasting our time pursuing dreams that will never become a reality. In my own case, after practicing tennis nearly every day for years in hopes of making my high school team, I watched my little brother easily surpass me on the tennis court. It was a devastating realization when I was forced to conclude that I wasn’t any good, but it allowed me to cut my losses in a sport that was never going to suit me.

I remember my nine-year-old son coming to the same conclusion when we sat down over a highlights video of his team’s rugby season. At the end of the video, having watched himself getting tossed around like a rag doll for game after game, he said, “Dad, I suck.” I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but he did suck (particularly in comparison to one of his teammates who now plays professionally), so I suggested he take up golf.

One of the nicest things about being human is that we have multiple avenues to success: no single formula exists for a life worth living, meaning that we all have enormous value and potential. This aspect of our species is immensely positive, but we can’t lose sight of the fact that our psychology evolved at a time when the ever-present risk of starvation meant we were forced to make incredibly tough decisions about each other. If someone was consuming more calories than they were bringing in, that someone was simply not a viable group member and could not be sustained indefinitely.

These considerations forced our ancestors to make ruthless decisions about who was in and who was out, with the result that we’re very sensitive to whether we’re a net cost or benefit to our group. People who were a net plus to their group were treated well, leading them to feel a sense of warmth and belonging. People who were a net minus were treated poorly, making them uneasy and worried. Through countless iterations of this process, we evolved a strong need to be of value to our group.

Autonomy serves our need to be of value by setting us on the same path that ten-year-old LeBron took on his way to becoming a legend (and nine-year-old Jordy took on his way off the rugby field). First, autonomy allows us to evaluate our options and choose the domains in which we have the best prospects. Second, once we have chosen our domains, autonomy lets us decide how to develop the necessary skills to achieve our goals. Because most of us have numerous domains in which we could succeed, the person who is best placed to decide which domains to pursue is typically ourselves. We know better than anyone else what we enjoy, what will sustain us, and what level of practice we can put into mastering an activity.

Our need for autonomy ensures that we resist the efforts of others to determine these things for us, who might otherwise unwittingly guide us in directions that are not in our best interests. If you’ve ever felt that what your parents or romantic partner want for you and what you want for yourself are two entirely different things, it is this function of autonomy that brought you to that realization. In this manner, autonomy serves as a corrective to our connection-based tendency to conform.

Humans have a strong need to go along with their group—to do otherwise was to risk ostracism, which was a death sentence for our ancestors. But the enormous advantages that come with the human capacity for cumulative culture would be lost if we always conformed to group norms without considering whether there might be better ways to do things. Our need for autonomy ensures that we’re always sensitive to opportunities to be the one who brings something better to our group.

That doesn’t mean our need for autonomy prevents us from conforming, as most of the time we conform so mindlessly that we don’t even know we’re doing it. I don’t make up my mind about whether to stop or go when I get to a red light just as I don’t make up my mind about whether to stand facing the front in the elevator.The cultural rules to which we all mindlessly conform make life easier for everyone, so we go along with them because there’s no reason not to.

In contrast, when members of our group are deciding their next activity, when they are unsure whether they should pursue option A or B, and in countless other situations, our sense of autonomy ensures that we feel entitled to pipe in with our opinion until everyone has made up their mind. But once a decision has been made, groups are no longer interested in argument and dissension, at which point we feel pressure from others if we don’t conform to the group’s wishes.

This conformity pressure has led well-meaning people to turn a blind eye to some of humanity’s most horrific actions, but conformity is necessary for groups to work effectively as a team. Particularly when groups come into conflict with one another, group members need to coordinate closely or they risk extermination. Thus, for at least the last million years, our ancestors who had a proclivity to conform were at a distinct advantage over those ancestors who were inclined to go their own way or ignore the group consensus.

Our need for autonomy is the only thing that stands in the way of this extraordinary pressure to conform, by ensuring we’re ready to capitalize on opportunities to shine when doing things a little bit differently means doing them a little bit better. Not that risking our connections in such a manner is easy, mind you, just that autonomy makes it possible. I still remember my own internal struggle with these forces when I let my desire to conform take precedence over my need for autonomy.

I was in third grade, learning Hebrew at our local Sunday school, when one afternoon the rabbi stopped by to check on our progress. He picked up our workbook and asked us to raise our hand if we thought the answer to the first question was A and then to raise our hand if we thought the answer was B. Mine was the only hand that went up for A, followed by the entire class raising their hands for B. The rabbi turned to me and asked if I’d like to change my mind, given that everyone else thought the answer was B. I deemed it wise to go along with my peers and said that I would. The rabbi responded to my capitulation by pointing out that I had been right the first time, that I should have followed my convictions, and that I shouldn’t worry so much about what other people think.

Although the rabbi was right, we can’t help worrying about what other people think because those potential ancestors who didn’t care about other people’s opinions were the ones who woke up alone one morning after ignoring their campmates too many times. Alone was a death sentence, so their lack of concern with others disappeared with them. But in third grade I was unaware of the evolutionary origins of my conformity and I burned with shame. The rabbi was a man of great importance in our Sunday school, I was a tiny nobody, and due to my cowardice I had blown the only opportunity I would ever get to impress him.

Such lessons loom large in our lives because they represent stumbles along the way as we try to find the right balance between connection and autonomy. In my own case, I vowed then and there to be more autonomous, but I soon discovered that the lesson didn’t generalize well to interactions with my friends. After a few miserable efforts to strike out on my own, I realized that connection with my friends was far more important than doing precisely what I wanted. Better to play kickball with them than baseball on my own.

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From The Social Paradox: Autonomy, Connection, and Why We Need Both to Find Happiness by William von Hippel. Copyright © 2025 by William von Hippel. Reprinted courtesy of Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.