In my work as a therapist, people often sit in front of me with a lot of very hard decisions to make.
These decisions span every facet of life and every degree of impact, and thing that I notice is that when we are in a place of tension around a decision, it doesn’t matter whether it’s whether to transfer prescriptions to a new pharmacy or cut ties with a family member – we feel such strain around finding the right answer.
There are big ones of course, and those are often the ones that might have brought someone into therapy to begin with, or at least are keeping them up at night. They are the decisions of whether to reveal something to the people they love, to leave a career that’s burning them out, to send their child on a different path, to end a longstanding relationship. They are the forks in the road – the choices we believe will unravel or unveil the next chapter.
The tension of indecision itself is painful for almost all of us, and it’s almost unbearable for some. We feel the tension because our lives feel so overwhelmingly in our hands, a level of responsibility we both desire and dread. That fork in the road feels like it’s taunting us. The infamous Robert Frost poem recites in our mind: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I– / I took the one less traveled by / And that has made all the difference.
In these situations, most of us spiral around a central question: What will make me the most happy? With this anchor in mind, we try our very best to assess which of the options before us will lead to us the life of fulfillment that we long for.
It seems reasonable enough to construct our decision-making this way, but there are two important problems with this approach. The first is that, quite unfortunately, we’re not very good at knowing what will make us happy. I know! It’s a really big bummer! Life would be substantially more efficient if we as humans were better at predicting this.
But cognitive science proves that we are notoriously bad at knowing what will bring us happiness. This seems to be because we use past experiences and present priorities to make decisions about our future. By the time we get to said future, however, it and we are different than we could have predicted.
The second problem with using happiness as our guide for decisions is also rooted in cognitive science, but perhaps even more fundamental. It’s the fact that we make a false assumption that happiness itself is the key to the good life. In the western world, this veneration of happiness is so central to our way of operating that it becomes hard to even recognize how embedded it is.
We all just want to be happy, we say. I just want you to be happy. Everyone deserves to be happy. Of these different cars or potential partners or colleges or sandwiches, which will make me the happiest?
Even among those who recognize that a full life consists of a range of human feelings, we set happiness at center. But happiness doesn’t have to be the true north of our lives, and in fact, it may be a whole lot more satisfying if it’s not. The reason is not only that happiness is an elusive, temporary, and moving target, but that it also doesn’t inherently involve something else that’s potentially even more important to our wellbeing.
A recent study published in Trends in Cognitive Science actually scientifically validated this alternative. The psychologists from the University of Florida and the University of Chicago explained that psychological richness was the missing link for many people to find fulfillment. Psychological richness, for them, referred to seeking out experiences that challenge us, change our perspective, and satisfy our curiosity. They found that many of us feel unfilled even with happy and meaning-filled lives if we lack this richness.
I like to call what these researchers are describing the process of expansion. Because when we get challenged and we get curious, our capacity grows. That space inside of us that can hold things like nuance and complexity gets wider and, in my view, we become fuller versions of ourselves. We extend into the potential that exists in us, and that’s a really exciting prospect.
It’s so compelling to me, in fact, that I’ve been trying to center it in my own decision making. The question shifts from What will make me happiest? – a quandary that reality tells me I truly can’t solve – to What will expand me?
Expansion means a lot of different things, of course, and that’s where this isn’t some formulaic determination. But we can get curious with this question of expansion. Where do I most want to grow? What do I need more capacity for? What will give me experiences that can expand my life story? What will help me get to know myself better?
The tricky thing about this question is that it can sound like it will always pull us toward the most radical or disruptive path, but if we get clear on what expansion means, that’s not the case. Because for many of us, what expansion might look like is actually expanding our ability to sit with what already is.
If we tend to be constantly in motion, choosing expansion might mean picking the path that feels like stillness.
If we tend to leave when things get hard, choosing expansion might mean deciding to stay and see what’s on the other side of tension.
If we tend to dive in, choosing expansion might mean holding off.
If we tend to always put others’ needs first, choosing expansion might mean taking the course that puts us face to face with feelings of guilt or selfishness.
If the idea of choosing expansion feels a little ambiguous, I’ll acknowledge it can be, but I’ve found that we have a pretty strong inner knowing about these things. Our internal worlds have an innate sense of the direction we need to grow. But we do have to listen for it. It’s always there in the quiet.
The harder part is accepting what that knowing is telling us, because I’ll be the first to admit that expansion is rarely convenient. Choosing expansion, by its very definition, creates tension. Just like the child’s bones stretching or the butterfly cracking open the chrysalis, it’s often an uncomfortable and even messy endeavor.
But what I’d remind us of is that remaining tight inside an unexpanded self is its own kind of pain. The pain of not being able to tolerate difficult emotions, or other people’s perceptions. The pain of living a life that doesn’t feel authentic or true. The pain of constantly quieting your voice. The pain of cycling through exhaustion and burnout in pursuit of so-called happiness. Those are the pains of an unexpanded self.
I have a post-it on my desk that says simply, Choose expansion. Sometimes that reminder nudges me to take the risk. Often it nudges me to slow down, as my own expansion is frequently found in doing nothing and letting life live me. It reminds me that I can consciously choose to grow, to expand my own capacity for this messy human experience. And while I may not always end up happier, exactly, I believe I end up better.
