Choice :: 077
Oh hey there.
Trader Joe's Ketchup
In our family, when we run out of Ketchup, we go to Trader Joe's. At TJ's, they only have one kind.
Ketchup.
We pick and we're done.
Not surprisingly, there's research that shows that less options make decisiveness easier. Much of the research was done by my friend Sheena Iyengar. She's a researcher on choice who wrote the book "The Art of Choosing." A few years ago, she asked me to design her website. Rather than use the main headline to talk about her accomplishments or give herself a title, I encouraged her to use her research to say something insightful about humans.
Above the fold it reads:
"Our choices construct our relationships, careers, world-views, and identities. We are the sum of our choices."
This month, I want to explore choosing. How and why we choose what we do. What happens when we make a choice. And what happens when we choose wrong.
Stay or leave?
You pick.
Illustration by Ilya Milstein
Your Hamster Wheel
There is a pet store next to Trader Joe's.
And every time we go, my kids make us look at the pets.
Their favorites are the puppies, but they're rarely there. Next, we go see the hamsters.
They climb on their wheel and Run.
Run!
RUN!
Counterpoint: The hamster wheel has a bad reputation as a metaphor. A never-ending boring trick for the stupid to exhaust themselves without going anywhere. It's our work, right?
But I saw those hamsters.
They run because they love it.
They run because they have to.
They run because it helps them feel alive.
They run because they're feeling stuck and crazy in a cage.
And then they get off. No problem.
And isn't that a more apt metaphor?
Reasons why hamsters get on the wheel are the same reasons we go to work. And when we're done
…just step off.
We can choose.
To see the hamster wheel we're on as a trap Or to see it as something that makes us feel purpose We can choose.
Divergence
I'm looking for a job.*
Often I will see a job listing and think, "Oh I could be the director of marketing. I'd be a good fit for that fintech thing. I would crush that bank's design director."
I think it's because sometimes... I still feel 19.
Like I have a world of possibilities and potential ahead of me. Like I could fit in anywhere and make anything work.
But I'm not 19. I'll be 40 in June.
I've had almost 2 decades of work experience and the choices I've made have led me down a pretty specific path. I'm an expert in the world of workplace productivity and wellness. I'm a former founder, having led the brand and community growth at Caveday. I spent the last 8 years researching and writing all of our workshops. I forged strategic partnerships and developed our B2B business, selling programs to transform work culture at places like Target, The NYTimes, Lyft, Spotify, Capital Group, and TED. I'm great at building meaningful experiences. I loved that our business was also a community.
So no.
I'm not a good fit for a creative director of an insurance startup. Or growth director at that AI thing. I'm further down my path than it feels. I've diverged from who I once was.
One more thing, while we're talking about divergence...
As I'm looking for work, I'm sharing my stories of interviewing and mismatched expectations and perceived failures to a text group of college friends. At one point we were all in the same financial, psychological and geographical space.
But now, we've diverged.
I'm a founder of a productivity startup with two kids in the suburbs. Another friend lives in a fancy doorman building in NYC. Another is married with one kid in the midwest. Since we met 20 years ago, we have all made choices that have led us far from that shared place of origin.
Every choice takes us further away from who we once were. But.
Every choice also brings us a little closer to who we are becoming.
*If you know someone who's working on something interesting who I would get along with, PLEASE respond and introduce us. Or ask me more about what I'm looking for. I'm happy to expand my network and be more generous with my time. Caveday is in great hands as my co-founders are still there; I have just chosen to move on to my next big thing.
Vampire Problems
Philosopher L.A. Paul outlines a very interesting idea: We're going to pretend that modern-day vampires don't drink the blood of humans; they're vegetarian vampires, which means they only drink the blood of humanely farmed animals. They have immortality, super-strength, morphing abilities. You have a one-time-only chance to become a modern-day vampire. What do you choose?
How do we make hard choices? Like most decisions, we gather data in the form of research and interviews imagining what it would be like. Trying to answer the question "Will I like this?"
Except this choice doesn't work like that.
In what Paul defines as Transformational Choices, rational decision-making doesn't work. We have no idea what it's going to be like. And we all have these transformational choices throughout our life: Choosing a partner Choosing to have kids Choosing where to live We won't know until we're in it.
So how do we make transformational choices? One option is instinct –– IYKYK. Another is rationally– but that too is insufficient because we're making our decision before we have transformed.
But maybe the truth is we're asking the wrong question. Instead of "Will I like this?" or "Should I do it?" we should think about the moral and intellectual commitment of entering a new chapter of our lives.
"Am I curious enough to commit to get better at this over the next few decades?"
So... are you?
The Opposite of Choice
In the last Refrigerator, I ended the last essay by saying "We're already deciding the world we want with our actions or inaction."
In spending this month thinking deeply about choice and researching it, I've changed my mind. I don't believe that the opposite of choice is inaction.
I think the opposite of choice is regret.
I used to not believe in regrets. Commit to every choice, say yes, be open for adventure, and live for stories. Adventure!! And everything is a lesson, so there's no real regret because I am where I am because of those choices.
As I get older, I have a different relationship to regret. It's not sad or disappointing. It's not FOMO about the could've-beens. It's curiosity. I romanticize the magic in the unknown. The untapped. What could have been. I wonder about all the paths I didn't take with an open-mind and without judgment. The life that exists in my mind following different choices. Transferring schools. Changing majors. Going to that party. Or Class. Staying at my job. I imagine the chain of serendipity extended out, choice to choice to choice, all the way down instead of cut short.
The lesson is not to say yes to everything. Or try and live without regrets (every choice creates regret). The lesson is to get better at managing regret. To understand that we can't choose everything. Choose what we believe is the best for us in the moment. And accept the loss in the untaken path, perhaps with a little bit of curiosity.
And optimism that this choice will lead to surprising outcomes just the same. This choice is part of a magical chain of serendipity too.
Here's to choosing your own adventure.
Thanks for choosing to spend time with me today. Of all the things to choose, I'm choosing to be optimistic and grateful.
If you have reflections or thoughts, just reply. If you have people that I should meet to work with, definitely reach out.
Your thoughts are worth sharing and reading.
Refridgeyalater,
Jake
Hey, me again.
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The Email Refrigerator is a monthly delivery of essays, poetry, imagery, and thoughts, written and curated by Jake Kahana. Why a refrigerator? Well, it's where we look for snacks, a little freshness, and where we hang the latest, greatest work. And besides, "newsletter" sounds like spam.