Choices. I wanted to upgrade my cell phone. I didn’t use it much, but was intrigued by the possibilities of the new smart phones everyone was carrying with them. I also wanted to be free of the major telephone companies and their 2-year contracts in order to buy one of their phones. I had used a family plan with one of the major companies for many years, and every time I examined my bill closely (I mean reading the really fine print) I would discover that I was paying for much more than I was using, even if I was on the minimum plan. After using a “pay-as-you-go” plan for my cell phone while abroad, I decided that was the way to go.
During the past number of years I had carried around an iPod Touch, which acted exactly like an iPhone without the phone part. I had accumulated hundreds of applications for it that I really liked, so I wanted to buy an iPhone. So I tried to find a pay-as-you-go company that offered an iPhone. No such luck. I searched for plans and the accompanying phones and I could not believe the number of companies out there—and then added to that was the myriad number of phones available to buy. It became obvious that the iPhone was only available through a large company with a minimum of a 2-year contract, both of which I wanted to avoid. The iPhone was also by far the most expensive. So now the need to choose. Do I find a phone with minimal capabilities and keep using my iPod Touch? If I go with a smart phone, which one? There were literally hundreds of possibilities for phones and plans.
So I spent hours on line trying to decide which phone and company offered me the best value for the money. The more I tried to decide which was my best option, the more irritated I became. I simply had too much information and too many choices.
This simple illustration highlights the irritation of having too many choices for one little product. Yet practically everything we experience has choice involved—cars to drive, colleges to attend and majors to study, churches to join, or computers to use—the list is endless. Unless we consume compulsively, each one of these choices requires a certain amount of deliberation raising our expectations with each new piece of information. In his book The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz writes: “So the more choices we have, the more effort goes into our decisions, and the more we expect to enjoy the benefits of those decisions.” (Swartz, 2005) Unfortunately, because our expectations are so high, Schwartz’ book proves the contrary.
We tend to think that having lots of choices improves our quality of life. In fact, the whole socio-economic system in the United States is based on the idea that, “Freedom and autonomy are critical to our well-being, and choice is critical to freedom and autonomy” (Schwartz, 2005). Based on this assertion, one would think that the US would be the freest and most autonomous country in the world, and therefore the happiest. Schwartz’ book has shown the fallacy of this cultural myth. “… though modern [US] Americans have more choice than any group of people ever has before, and thus, presumably, more freedom and autonomy, we don’t seem to be benefiting from it psychologically” (Schwartz 2005). In fact, instead of well-being, too many choices has seemed to cause resentfulness.
I have often taught my students that “People living in the developing world suffer from too few choices while people in the industrialized nations like US Americans suffer from too many choices.” Why is this so? According to Schwartz, when “opportunities [choices] became so numerous [ … ] we feel overwhelmed. Instead of feeling in control, we feel unable to cope” (Schwartz, 2005). One of the predominate cultural traits of US Americans is the need to be in control. Losing control depresses us. When we finally make a decision on what to buy, what school to attend, which spirituality to adhere to, we second guess our choice. “You’re hit with a double whammy—regret about what you didn’t choose, and disappointment with what you did” (Schwartz, 2005). If for some reason we are happy with our choice, that delight doesn’t last very long because of a psychological phenomenon called adaptation. “Simply put, we get used to things, and then we start to take them for granted” (Schwartz, 2005). When we take things for granted, we raise our expectations even more, and when those expectations aren’t met, we become resentful.
Taking things for granted must be the plague of any person of faith trying to live in the United States or other industrialized country. According to Mary Jo Leddy in her book Radical Gratitude, “The longer we live ungratefully, the more we strengthen the claims of a culture that takes everything and everyone for granted” (Leddy, 2002). How do we combat this attitude? The first lesson that I hope the students who go on my semester-abroad programs learn is not to take their privileges and comfortable life styles for granted. When they experience poverty and oppression in the countries we visit, they immediately express the desire to be more grateful and not to take things for granted. When we (myself included) return home, it is much more difficult to maintain this attitude because of adaptation. Schwartz asserts, “Because of adaptation, enthusiasm about positive experiences doesn’t sustain itself.” (Schwartz, 2005). Whether the positive experience had to do with the consumptive choices we have made or the new cross-cultural learning, it doesn’t last. Our dissatisfaction turns to frustration or even to anger. The irony of having too many choices, instead of making us happy, grateful and more fulfilled, is that it makes us resentful.
I find it quite ironic that we get grouchy because of too many choices, but my own experiences confirm this. Because of these experiences, I hope that I can avoid the grouchiness and entitlement that I feel and become more grateful. For more on entitlement and gratitude, read my previous post.