The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun

too thin, V-necked, and long-sleeved, and to me, tracking down and buying such shirts seemed like an overwhelming challenge. My mother was undaunted. “We’ll go to Bloomingdale’s,” she decided.
    Though I felt dazed the minute I entered the store, my mother walked purposefully from one area to the next. As she began her systematic inspection, I trailed along behind her and carried the shirts she’d pulled out. After she’d considered every white shirt on the floor, I tried on—conservative estimate—twenty shirts. I bought eight.
    My mother had joined with zeal my quest for the perfect white T-shirt, but when she saw the stack of monochrome cotton at the cash register, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want any other colors or styles? This is a lot of white shirts.”
    “Well…” I hesitated. Did I really want this many white shirts? Then I remembered a study showing that people think they like variety more than they do. When asked to pick a menu of snacks for the upcoming weeks, they picked a variety, but if they chose week to week what to eat, they picked their favorite snack over and over.
    In the store, it seemed like a good idea to have a variety of colors. But I knew from experience that when I stood in front of my closet, I always wanted to pull out the same things: white V-neck T-shirt; black yoga pants or jeans; and running shoes.
    Buy needful things. “Yes, I just want white,” I said firmly.
    Inspired by my shirt success, I replaced our leaky blender. I bought a personalized return-address stamp. I’d realized that the paradoxical consequence of being an underbuyer was that I had to shop more often, while buying extras meant fewer trips to the cash register. I bought batteries, Band-Aids, lightbulbs, diapers—things I knew we would need eventually. I finally ordered business cards, which I’d been putting off for years. I was inspired when, at a meeting, someone handed me the best-looking business card I’d ever seen. I got all the information so I could order a copycat version for myself.
    My decision-making process for ordering a business card showed me that not only was I an “underbuyer,” I was also a “satisficer”—as opposed to a “maximizer.” Satisficers (yes, satisficers) are those who make a decision or take action once their criteria are met. That doesn’t mean they’ll settle for mediocrity; their criteria can be very high, but as soon as they find the hotel, the pasta sauce, or the business card that has the qualities they want, they’re satisfied. Maximizers want to make the optimal decision. Even if they see a bicycle or a backpack that meets their requirements, they can’t make a decision until after they’ve examined every option, so they can make the best possible choice.
    Studies suggest that satisficers tend to be happier than maximizers. Maximizers spend a lot more time and energy to reach a decision, and they’re often anxious about whether they did in fact make the best choice. As a shopper, my mother is a good example of what I’d call a “happy limited maximizer.” In certain distinct categories, she’s a maximizer, and she loves the very process of investigating every possibility. Now that Eliza and Eleanor were going to be flower girls in my sister’s wedding, I knew my mother would love nothing more than to examine every possible dress,just for the fun of it. But too often maximizers find the research process exhausting yet can’t let themselves settle for anything but the best. The difference between the two approaches may be one reason some people find a big city like New York disheartening. If you’re a maximizer in New York City, you could spend months surveying your options for bedroom furniture or even wooden hangers. In Kansas City, even the most zealous maximizer can size up the available options pretty quickly.
    Most people are a mix of both. In almost every category, I was a satisficer, and in fact, I often felt guilty about not doing more research before making decisions. In law school, one friend interviewed with fifty law firms before she decided where she wanted to go as a summer associate; I think I interviewed with six. We ended up at the same firm. Once I learned to call myself a “satisficer,” I felt more satisfied with my approach to decision making; instead of feeling lazy and unconscientious, I could call myself prudent. A great example of reframing.
    SPEND OUT.
    I tend to cling to things—to stuff, to ideas.