Successfully solving the wrong problem

Have you ever had a moment when you realized that you had struggled to solve a problem, only to realize it was the wrong problem? I had one of those recently.

With the change back to standard time, we were dutifully changing the batteries in our smoke alarms, as recommended by the fire department. One of them had some sort of electrical short, so we called the fix-it shop to order up an electrician. (I love to “fix” things, but I draw the line at things that throw grown men from the tops of power poles.)

The electrician persuaded me that it would be wise to install some new alarms. (That's another story). I agreed, he installed, and all was right with the world. Until midnight, when we were startled awake by this loud noise that we took to be the smoke alarms. After all, they were new, so who knew whether they might be faulty. I scurried, bleary-eyed, to the garage to grab the ladder. With my partner spotting me, I climbed the ladder and removed each alarm from the very high ceilings (which I can barely reach  on a good day, never mind at midnight, hence the spotter). I unplugged each unit from its connection to the electrical system and then removed the batteries.

I had achieved my goal: all of the smoke alarms were completely disabled. The problem was solved. Unfortunately, it was the wrong problem.

We continued to hear this oscillating roar. I paused, thought it through carefully, methodically considered all the ways I might fix it … and then called the shop. I got the dispatcher, who got the electrician, who called me. After a puzzled conversation, he said he’d come over. (“I’ll be coming in civilian clothes,” he’d said. Note to customer: “I am off duty”).

Only after I hung up the phone did I process that this was the wrong sort of sound for a smoke alarm (especially from one that is unplugged and battery-less). It sounded more like the alarm on a clock radio. Bingo! I have an old clock radio in my study that I never use except as a clock. Never as an alarm. I hurried to my study, punched the button, and voila! The noise stopped. The problem was never the smoke alarms. It was the clock radio!

Fortunately, I had the electrician’s cell number on caller ID and caught him before he had dragged himself out of bed, into some clothes, out to his truck, and through the night to our house. I'm glad I caught him, but I'm certain we'll be the laughing stock of the home-repair shop this week.

So, laughing about this ourselves, my partner and I thought about how often we humans struggle mightily to solve a problem, only to discover that the solution doesn’t help because we solved the wrong problem. Samples:

• I once knew a woman who walked around all day in uncomfortable shoes (just one of them, but that was bad enough). She promised herself she’d throw them away when she got home. She was headed for the trash can when she noticed something rattling in the bottom of her shoe—and retrieved her contact lens case. She almost solved the wrong problem.

• We have a north-facing garage, so the driveway is always shaded. Also, we live in a town home complex, and our driveway is located so that a vast expanse of lawn and road drains right to our driveway. It was a very snowy winter (2006-7) when we moved in, and I struggled to keep the packed snow and run-off from becoming a lethal hazard. I tried chopping it with a shovel, but to no avail. I tried salt. No help. I finally bought an edger, which served pretty well as an ice chopper, and spent many hours chopping through 6"-thick ice. The next winter, various events led me to consider the possibility that the problem wasn't my ice-removal strategies. It was poor management by the HOA. Turns out they're supposed to clear the driveways. So, instead of investing in a full-sized road grader, I emailed the HOA and got them on the task. Our driveway is now kept clear. I'd been chopping away at the wrong problem.

• I also got fooled by this process when I was teaching. I recall struggling with how to get my students more engaged in my latest academic fascination, only to slowly realize that the problem wasn’t them. It was me. I needed to be working out my latest edgy ideas in a different venue. I had been trying to solve the wrong problem.

• On a larger scale, we once heard a governor promise to increase the percentage of state residents who had college degrees. The guv said nothing about improving education or making the educational system meet students’ needs. Too few degrees! That was the heart of the state’s problems! The truth is, it wouldn’t be hard to solve that problem. You could just lower expectations, lower requirements, give everybody degrees. But I’m pretty sure that would be solving the wrong problem.

• I guess this blog is another example. I'd been feeling out of sorts, cranky (restless, irritable, and discontent, as some would say). My solution was to disappear farther into my crabby recluse mode. If the problem is that the world is dissatisfying, then hiding out would keep me from having to deal with it. Problem solved. Except that I was still cranky. My partner encouraged me to consider the possibility that maybe the problem was not the world but my disconnection from it. Redefining the problem changed the game. Now, here I am, resisting being gone. I blog, therefore I am! 

Our smoke alarms now work fine. The clock radio alarm is no longer set to go off at midnight. All is well in my world once again. But I'm sure I'll get caught in this trap again. And chances are I won't recognize what I'm doing until I finish solving the wrong problem.