The beauty of Minimalism is in its intentionality. It’s simplicity. The removal of the excess in order to streamline your focus.
A while ago, I was up late in the night watching the TV with a good friend. We had eaten well and settled on the sofa for an hour of shows before hitting the hay. And we probably spent 20 minutes trying to find something to watch that we could agree on, and that matched the vibe of our feelings.
Once upon a time, it was VHS tapes and whatever you had at home. If you were lucky, you could rent a movie from the shop. Maybe something good was on TV but you had to ensure you were ready to go. Forget about pausing it if you needed a toilet break – you had to wait for the adverts to come on.
Anyone remember those times?
Now, we can stream it all from our phones. Gone are the times of when the phone was strictly for calls, texts and the odd game of snake. We can literally watch or do anything on them, from youtube, ordering food, shoes, Netflix and Amazon, to pornography, if we so desire.
There is almost unlimited choice.
And this is where I want to take this essay. Some might call this analysis paralysis. I call it the paradox of choice. It does not really matter because they lead to the same thing – mental overwhelm.
When there are only two options – eat the chicken or starve, or one black coat in the winter or no coat at all, I think most of us are going for option one. But when you introduce choice beyond a reasonable amount, you arrive at the paradox of choice.
This is where we are now. And we are entering a period of life where anything is possible.
But as Ian Malcom says in Jurassic Park, you have to give up a lot to get good at something. You have to earn the discipline to have the power.
What he means by this, and what I intend to demonstrate is that you have to single in on one thing over others without the distractions. I write everyday so that I can become better at it. It involves giving up other things or pushing them to the side in order to develop that mantra.
The paradox of choice essentially means that the greater our options, the less satisfaction that we can feel in our decisions.
Something as simple as buying bread becomes a challenge. There are usually the two options – brown or white. Simple right? But when you have whole loaf, homemade, sliced bread, gluten free white bread, gluten free brown bread. This suddenly gets complicated.
And this is the primary issue with the paradox of choice. Something that should be straightforward becomes a complicated matter.
Coffee is another example. Once upon a time, it was café au lait or black coffee. Now there is a latte, a Macha coffee, coffee with soy milk, coffee without the caffeine, iced coffee. It goes on and it becomes an unnecessary muddle of stuff that detracts from the benefits of the joy of drinking the thing in the first place.
And suddenly, what ought to be simple decisions turn into complicated paths. This is where the gift of minimalism counters this paradox of choice.
Instead of pursuing numerous different options, taking only one or two provides clarity and simplifies the process. The objective of drinking coffee is to benefit from the caffeine. Eating bread is a means to achieve sustenance. The end goal is what needs to be questioned, not the means in themselves.
I have observed the difference between numerous options and a few. The few creates decisions and the many creates the paradox of choice. This paradox steals our time, our attention from the truly important things. I have been extremely selective about the series I have sat down to watch over the years. The reason for this is I value my time and my energy more than I value the numerous options that are presented to me. It is more important to me that I gain value from the experience of the story, rather than cramming things in for the sake of it.
Too many options can lead to decision fatigue, overthinking and missing the opportunity to appreciate something that is in the present moment. It is not a choice; it is an overwhelming, tiring process that offers the opposite of enjoyment.
I was parking my car at 03:00 this morning (I work at an airport.) The car park was unusually sparse and I had options beyond options. Normally, by the time I arrive, the first five rows are gone and I usually park in the centre of this car park, or towards the back. I am often stupidly early and thereby unconcerned by the parking space. Yet, in this instance, I had many choices. I could go for the back, as usual. Or I could go for the parking spots against the fence by the exit. Or right by the footpath. The choice was up to me. The choice was many. The choice was overwhelming.
The choice led to me taking an extra ten seconds deciding as I arrived in the car park, and led to me breaking from my podcast and asking a sincere question on something simple.
Here we are again. The paradox of choice. There were too many choices. I ultimately went for somewhere close to the front entrance for the cars to allow for a speedy get away. The simplicity of what is normally a straightforward action was a complicated one.
This is my ultimate point.
Too much choice is closer to a limitation than a freedom. We find ourselves spending greater levels of time on what we want, finding options that previously we would have never considered. If we had the greater level of time, which we do not, we might have a different debate on hand.