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Too Little Time, Too Many Choices

I stand motionless, except for the pounding of my own heart, in the yogurt aisle of my supermarket.

Do I want 0%, 1%, or 2%? Organic, dairy-free, soy, almond milk, or goat milk?

Fruit on the top, middle, bottom, or side?

American style, Greek style, Swiss Style, Balkan style?

Mango-orange, strawberry-banana, lychee-pomegranate, Tamarindo (whatever that is), peanut butter-chocolate chip, and the new vegetable-based sweet potato or butternut squash.

I cannot move. I’m immobilized with indecision. Yearning for the olden days of one choice: Dannon. Plain, strawberry, blueberry. Fruit on the bottom. Full fat. A memorable ad campaign telling us that yogurt kept Russians alive past 100.

I also yearn for the days when I had four, five tops favorite bands and they averaged a new album about once a year. And I’d listen to my records (we didn’t call them vinyl) over and over, re-reading the well-worn jacket liners, memorizing every lyric, singing along.

Now I can choose from thousands of new CDs, downloads, streaming. I can transfer music between all my devices (if I had that many): iTunes Library, iPhone, iPod, iPad, Android phone, laptop, desktop! I can customize music on demand by genre, artist, even the mood I’m in at that particular moment.

A hit one day is gone tomorrow. Sometimes there’s not even any physical evidence that the band existed.

And let’s just say about TV that 25 years ago Bruce Springsteen sang, “57 Channels (And Nothin’ On).” Now we have an infinite number of shows to watch with new ones popping up every week, and some people are still quoting “The Boss.”

I miss having a few favorite fiction authors, anticipating their new books with glee, knowing them like old friends because of their wonderfully predictably great writing, not because I follow their websites, blogs, Instagrams, tweets, and care about their brands i.e. creative platforms—uggh.

I find myself needing advice more than ever. Flummoxed and frightened by all the decisions in a bookstore, a wine shop, a gift shop, a department store—even a farmer’s market (too many types of tomatoes, for starts). You name it, I’m always anxious, looking for guidance.

I miss the days before you could buy anything online versus everything. I’m unlike many people I know—young and old—who are jumping for joy to have so many options, so much convenience. To each his or her own.

I know I’m a casualty of a simpler time, a baby boomer unwilling to embrace this brave, big new world of endless choices at your fingertips, of endless opinions from as many news outlets.

I want to run and hide in a cabin in the woods, like a crazy woman, talking to the trees and the animals.

But I don’t. I manage to work at finding balance. I’m only talking to my pets a little more than usual. Speaking of which, I even become a lunatic buying cat food. The one brand I buy has 35 flavors and textures: grilled, roasted, and pâté. But my cats make it easy because unlike me, indecision is not in their vocabulary. They will only eat three flavors, one style, and have no interest in mixing it up.

I am not at all surprised that the huge yoga craze of the ’60s is back full force. We so need to relax and decompress from our daily lives.

Except even relaxation has too many choices. We had one choice back then. It was called yoga.

Now we have Hatha, Vinyassa, Anusara, Ashtanga, hot yoga, power yoga, chair yoga, restorative yoga, dance your yoga, 12-step yoga—and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

I wonder if anxiety caused by too many choices is an actual phenomenon, a new mental disorder? So I google it.

I read on Wikepedia about “The Paradox of Choice—Why More Is Less” by American psychologist Barry Schwartz, who argues that eliminating consumer choices can greatly reduce anxiety for shoppers.

“Autonomy and freedom of choice are critical to our wellbeing, and choice is critical to freedom and autonomy. Nonetheless, though modern Americans have more choice than any group of people ever has before, and thus, presumably, more freedom and autonomy, we don’t seem to be benefiting from it psychologically.’

We are more stressed out than ever.

This is followed by a dozen more articles on the subject, so I shut down the computer before my head explodes.

My vision is blurring from staring at the computer screen.

I have CMF (Computer Mouse Fatigue). It’s a real phenomenon—I read about it online.

I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. But first, relax with a cup of tea.

I know I don’t want anything caffeinated, but I have to decide if I want old-school Lipton’s decaf or Earl Gray, English, or Irish Breakfast decaf. Or maybe I’ll go for herbal, floral-infused, chamomile, green-sencha or jasmine-white, golden chai or turmeric chai. Bag, loose, or macha powder. Organic, fair trade, artisan…

Amy J. Barry is a baby boomer who lives in Stony Creek with her husband and assorted pets. She writes features and reviews for Shore Publishing newspapers and is an expressive arts educator. Contact her at www.aimwritect.net.