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Rebecca Zamon is The Globe and Mail’s audience growth manager.
I’m standing in the grocery store cereal aisle, staring at two boxes of oatmeal that each endorse their heartiness and healthiness, completely paralyzed by choice. The decision is so insignificant that I know I’ll forget about having made it 30 minutes from now, but in the meantime, I’m at a standstill.
It’s the same position I find myself in whenever I try to compare winter boots, or choose a restaurant for dinner, or more pointedly, attempt to decide whether or not it is in fact okay for my kids to have indoor playdates with their friends, who they spend all day at school with anyway, and why one school friend is fine, but two is too much and and and …
I am exhausted by making decisions where I don’t have all the information I need – and I really, truly don’t want to take in any more information.
Extracurricular activities. Rapid tests. Car problems. Screenings. Family holiday parties. Omicron. Each time a new scenario arises, my mind reels and I want nothing more than to be back in 2019. But that’s a case of rose-coloured hindsight glasses, because decision fatigue wasn’t created by the pandemic; it is, like so many other things, a behaviour that’s been brought into the spotlight as stable routines disappeared into the ether and COVID-19 safety protocols got layered on top of our already full schedules.
It reminds me a bit of the paradox of choice, a well-documented phenomena coined by psychologist Barry Schwartz. In his work, he describes the specific challenges faced when there’s too much to choose from, whether that’s clothing options or career paths, noting that “unconstrained freedom” can lead to paralysis. Kind of like going cross-eyed while looking at the multitude of options for kids’ summer camps, each more potentially enriching than the next. It’s difficult to choose which will be best for my kids, because how the heck am I supposed to know? It’s my first time doing this mom thing!
It’s not just women experiencing this, of course (though we all know that this time of year, the lion’s share of “holiday magic” comes in the form of moms). It’s an overload of facts coming at us all the time, asking us to weigh decisions based on things we’ve never before considered and have no idea how to assess. It’s making our educated guesses and hoping for the best, and in the meantime, trying our hardest not to compare ourselves to people who choose differently. It is draining and taxing and it is happening to everyone you know.
There’s no magic pill to solve this issue, but there are things I know would help (though please, don’t ask if I always implement them in my own life). Regularly taking the time to look at what’s coming up, for example, can make a big difference. Yep, that means the dreaded meal planning and sitting down with your spouse to go over what’s in everyone’s calendar, and, when needed, figuring out what can be dropped. Essentially, I’m talking about sharing the burden of the decision making involved in so much of the emotional labour women typically undertake. Looking ahead won’t entirely stave off the stupefaction, but it’ll lessen the number of decisions you have to make in the moment, give you a bit of a productivity high and offer you a chance to breathe.
In the meantime, if you’re looking for gifts to give this holiday season, let me recommend one that I think every person could use: a decision-free day. You make the plans, tell your loved one what to wear, where to be, what to bring (and none of that “oh just yourself!” BS) and let them luxuriate in the joy of feeling completely taken care of. Better yet, cut out or screenshot this paragraph right here and send it to someone who might be wondering what exactly to get you. There, another thing off your list.
What else we’re thinking about:
It’s my favourite time of the year, thanks to the influx of “best of” book lists flooding my inbox (hello, Globe 100!). At this point, it feels like I spend more time reading (or listening to podcasts) about the books I want to read and less time actually reading them. But for those I do finish, I put together my own list at the end of every year. I’ve never kept a journal, but this is how I look back at the previous 12 months of my life on Dec. 31 every year – through the pages of the books that accompanied me along the way. Wishing you plenty of great reads for the rest of 2021, and well beyond.
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