Why more choice does not make us happier

-15 outside. People moving slowly in the darkness, jackets pulled up, no skin facing the world. No skin facing other humans. Feels like I don’t move any longer, frozen by my computer and piles of work. I choose what I don’t have to choose but complain about the consequences. Choose not to analyze what that means. Drink whiskey with the consequences instead, read one page of fiction and wake up to the same pile I left. Looking for someone to blame, my rrs-feed gives me nothing. Just this concert review from a National concert in London. Four months until they play here, is that something I can live on? Two and a half weeks since I left London. How long are memories suppose to last?

Interviews in office buildings, drinking water from plastic cups. Coffee makes my mouth dry. I learned that the hard way. Listening to people and myself, asking myself if I make sense, no answer found in their eyes. The pain in my eyes when I say goodbye, do I forget to blink during these meetings? Out on the street again, Christmas lights over empty streets in the old town. I took pictures of a friend eating ice cream here a few months ago. We both had t-shirts on.

Need a winter jacket and even though I have read this book, and seen this highly recommended TED-talk about why more choice does not make us happier, I try and find the perfect one. The perfect winter jacket that some clever advertiser have probably planted in some American independent movie starring pretty Fitzgerald quoting hipsters. It is nowhere. I look pale in the dressing room mirrors.

I check my emails (yes, with an ‘s’)and the hours of tomorrow fill up. All these documents being sent, plans being made, deadlines being written in agendas. I sit in the middle with dry eyes, ‘tell us about yourself.’ I never know where to start. Always end with a smile, tired and confused, waiting to get out on the street, walk on my own. Did I really say that? How did they interpret that, I forgot that.

‘This gold zipper is a real nice added value’ a hipster sales person is telling me. ‘I have one as well and I am very happy’. I put on the 200 Euro jacket, look at my pale face and conclude that I look like Barbapapa. Tired eyes leave the store for more coffee. The haunting image me as a French made cartoon blob making me think that maximizing life should perhaps be a bigger focus than maximize the amount pointless work I surround myself with.

Barbapapa.

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2 thoughts on “Why more choice does not make us happier

  1. Maybe your attempts of combining conformity and artistic value is lost in the rearview mirror of the vision you once staked out for yourself. Men jävligt kallt är det.

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