The Hedonic Treadmill Is Alive and Well . . .

cup of coffee and coffee beansin Seattle.

I started writing this post last Wednesday, Aug. 5.  We’re home now and I’m finishing it up, but I decided to leave it as is.  If you’ve wondered why posts were few and far between in the past week, it’s because I’ve been on the road for our long-awaited road trip to Seattle by way of Yellowstone, Mt. Rainier, and Canyonlands National Park.  Tonight is our last night staying at the home of Jim’s sister Carol, where we’ve been reunited with Gideon as he’s finished his internship for the summer.  Tomorrow we’re planning to get up early to get to Mt. Rainier, go hiking, and then get on the road to home by way of Canyonlands.  It’s been a wonderful trip so far.  I’m sitting here after dinner out with Jim’s Uncle Jim and Aunt Sandi, an extended affair that included a separate trip for dessert.  It’s a good thing we’re planning on a lot of hiking tomorrow.  (If you read the post about the book Delancey, you might be interested to know that our first destination, the one at which we devoured pizzas, salads and starters, was that very place.  It was so much fun to look around and remember some of the stories about how this simple little place came to be.  The line started forming well before the opening time of 5:00, and by around 5:30 the place was full–pretty good on a weeknight.) But what does all this have to do with the hedonic treadmill, or coffee?  Ah, well that you should ask.  I have a hard time finding good coffee on the road, and indeed I’ve decided that it’s just a waste of money to get coffee with breakfast in a regular restaurant.  If the water has passed through any grounds at all at most of these places, they’ve been re-used ones.  High-end coffee shops, though, are another matter.  (Starbucks is not a high-end coffee shop.  It just charges like one.)  I was finally given the advice that if I wanted a really strong cup of coffee, which I do, I should order something called a “shot in the dark,” which is a cup of regular coffee with a shot of espresso.  So you pay for both, but at least you get something decent.  I had wonderful memories of a place called Stumptown Coffee Roasters which is just a few blocks from Carol’s house, and I planned to go there again once we hit Seattle.  I went in.  There they were, the baristas manning (personing?) the espresso machines, the music blaring (not my favorite part), the hipsters lining up.  (How on earth can these people afford to pay someone else to make their coffee every single morning?)  I ordered my drink.  There it was.  First sip.  Heaven!  Like coffee, chocolate, and fine wine all rolled into one.  (Fine wine without the alcohol, anyway.)  Just as wonderful as I had remembered it.  I enjoyed every sip.

So the next morning I went back.  We’re on vacation, so paying $4.50 (yikes!!!) for a cup of coffee is okay, I guess.  And it was still very, very good.  But it wasn’t as good.  The coffee wasn’t any different; I was.  Nothing could ever match that first taste:  “The second lick of the ice cream cone never tastes as good as the first.”  It would probably have been better had I restricted myself to going perhaps twice during our five days in Seattle, but I think I went every day.  Each morning my SITD was a little less of a treat and a little more of a routine.  Gretchen Rubin says in her new book on habits, “If we make a habit of a treat, it may stop feeling like a treat” (Better than Before, 208).   And this is where the treadmill in the title comes into play:  In order to maintain a feeling of luxury or indulgence (hedonism) we have to keep upping the ante, go even faster to remain in the same place, just like someone on a treadmill that keeps speeding up.  For most treats there’s some built-in limit:  I can only drink so much coffee at one time, and there’s a limit even for me of how strong it can be, so the rush of pleasure lessens.  I can’t make the treadmill go faster; I can only get off and then get back on again.  On the other hand, if my indulgence has indeed become a habit, then I feel deprived if I don’t get it, but I don’t get much real pleasure from it.  A friend of Rubin’s mentioned that she had to put up with a very unpredictable supply of hot water when she lived in Russia for a time, so a hot shower was a great treat.  Then she returned to the States and went back to taking that shower for granted.

But the treadmill can work in reverse, too.  We adapt in both directions, towards both luxury and deprivation.  While the woman above probably hated the blast of a cold Russian shower at first, after a while she almost certainly adapted.  It was no big deal.  Now, though, she’d be outraged if only cold water came out of the faucet.  This whole adaptation idea explains why people can be happy under very adverse circumstances and be miserable under very favorable ones.  It all depends on how they’ve set up the treadmill, consciously or unconsciously.

So next time I’m in Seattle I think I’ll just go to SCR once.  I’ll make it an occasion.  Maybe I’ll pack my little coffeemaker so that I can make my own brew the other mornings.  (I make excellent coffee.)  I’ll add to my pleasure in two ways:  by maintaining the specialty coffee as a treat, and by reminding myself of how much money I’m saving.  Do you have a one-time treat that has become a boring (but perhaps expensive) habit?  How could you get off the treadmill?

3 thoughts on “The Hedonic Treadmill Is Alive and Well . . .”

  1. Very good read…I enjoyed that…I have done the same thing myself with a lot of different treats! I guess I have never experienced a high-end coffee shop before; any suggestions?

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