“Where would you go on a shopping spree?”

I assume someone else’s money is going to pay for this?

I would go to the Apple Store and upgrade my computer equipment for the top-of-the-line stuff I can’t afford. I’d start with the new high-spec MacBook Air and a brand new iPad Air.

While I’m there I would buy new AirPod Pros and a new watch, and two new displays for the office.

I feel like I’m missing something. Extra cables, maybe, and a few new power bricks.

This would be very satisfying for a period of time. A short period of time, it turns out. This is because of a concept called the hedonic treadmill. When we consume (buy) a product, we feel happy (hedonic happiness) for a short period of time, and then it fades. Then we have to consume more to get that thrill again. That’s the treadmill.

So the shopping spree isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I will admit it was fun, it was really fun! But I’m not missing much.

Revving the treadmill engine

I guess I got tired of that idyllic end of summer crap, because I’ve sent twenty queries over the past couple of days.

That’s twenty chances for rejection, I know. That’s also twenty chances for requests for manuscripts. That’s twenty chances for someone to share my query with another agent in the agency. Twenty more agents who know my name.

No, I’m not always as optimistic as I sound. It’s just that my hedonic treadmill, the constant state of moving up and down from our hedonic set point , really gets revving up when presented with possibilities.

So I have to get more queries out there to rev my treadmill engine, and so I’ll be writing those up until I work New York Hope as moulage crew and then start my semester.

In the meantime, I dream of someday having a book release party. Locally, where I’m with the people I know. Cake and coffee and punch. What quirky things do you think should happen at a book party? Humor me.

The Hedonic set point

So, yesterday’s introspection left me at an interesting place. I’m considering a concept I teach in positive psychology called the hedonic set point. The concept is backed by research, so it’s not new age hoo-ha.

The theory goes like this: whenever something good happens to us, we feel great for a while, but then we get used to that feeling and it fades until we’re back at our set point. When something bad happens to us, we feel bad for a while, but then we start feeling less bad and then it fades until we get back to our set point.

So, if I get rejected, and I don’t beat myself up over it, I will feel better eventually. If I beat myself up over it, I generate bad feelings and will feel bad for longer. But I will find myself once again at the set point.

Conversely, if I get accepted (for my manuscript or by an agent), I will feel great for a while, and may try to make the feeling last longer by celebrating and telling all my friends, but I will eventually fall back to the set point.

In other words, it’s folly to look at happy-making moments in order to become happy. In a lifespan, major achievements don’t reset our hedonic set point.

What does reset our set point higher?

Practicing gratitude
Significant relationships (friendship, family, intimate)
Building self esteem = success/hopes and expectations
Giving back to community
Regular meditation

So, given that, there is one thing about getting published that could permanently put my set point higher and that is building self-esteem. I get that.

Building self-esteem can be done in two ways: More success and modest hopes and expectations.* I’m working on it.

* My fantasy of getting published is pretty modest. In it, I have to find an entertainment lawyer, look over a contract, argue the contract, go through all those intermediate steps that might take a year or four, have a modestly attended book party, travel a few places on my money, and make less than $40k. None of my friends will be particularly excited. My university will not count it as academic achievement. I’m okay with this.

Spring in my Heart

Almost March, and the snow still lies in dirtied drifts on the ground, piled person-high at the edges of parking lots. The wind chills are more often than not in the single digits. Usually, by now, the snow pack has gone and the days fool one into thinking Spring has come early. My peas are supposed to be planted on St. Patrick’s Day, and I don’t know if the snow will be gone by then, much less the soil warm enough.

In short, I am sick of winter.

I want something new. Like many Americans, I think I want a new pretty thing. I replaced my iPhone 6 Plus after three or four years with a refurbished iPhone 8 Plus, and I’m already accustomed to its shiny new look. That’s the problem with new things — we step on the hedonic treadmill, buy shiny new things, and feel happy until that happiness, hedonic happiness, quickly fades.

I want a new thing for my soul. I want to plant peas on St. Patrick’s Day and watch them grow. I want to see my books progress toward being printed. I want to find a new challenge that absorbs me.

If I can’t have Spring outside, I would like Spring in my heart.

No, not ‘happily ever after’!

A question I asked the other day in my Positive Psychology class: If there was a machine you could hook up to that would give you a medication that would keep you happy all the time, would you?

Almost all my students answered no. When I asked why, they said things like “Would you know you were happy if you were never sad?” “Would you be able to detect a threat?” “Wouldn’t you get bored?” One student said, “I think what you’re describing is called ‘heroin’.”

All good points. The type of happiness we can seek on demand, the type of happiness the machine dispenses, is called “hedonic happiness”. It makes us happy in bursts, much like heroin sends the taker into short-term bliss. Hedonic happiness is short-term and can become addictive. Things like compulsive shopping and other addictions (including the aforementioned heroin) result from a perfect storm of complications in life, including the compulsion to self-medicate with happiness. Who wouldn’t be tempted if their life started to spiral out of control?

I have two characters in two different books, Allan Chang and Ichirou Shimizu, who both fight the lure of perpetual hedonic happiness. Is it a coincidence that both are Asian? That might be just because I think Asian men are underrepresented in literature and demoted as sidekicks or comic relief. It could also be because I think Asian men are cute, as evidenced bythis photo:

This is my husband, Richard Leach-Steffens, and I. He’s your typical Asian-German mix, brought to you by living in the USA.

It’s interesting, however, that Asian cultures emphasize balance and harmony, because the hedonic treadmill (represented by heroin for Allan and by a fantasy world for Ichirou) is counter to the values of an Asian society. Yet that harmony is broken for both — Ichirou by a hidden talent and the pressures of being young in contemporary Japan (see hikikomori), Allan by an abusive family situation. I set up the balance/imbalance dichotomy accidentally, but I love the results.

This is the kind of stuff I mean when I say I put the things I know into my books. I don’t want someone well-balanced with no difficulties to be the addict, because research shows that happy rats don’t do smack, but the stressed-out ones do. And people don’t escape if where they’re at is just fine. (I’m not talking about the later stages of addiction, when the behavior becomes the life — just why some people can take drugs and quit, and others can’t.)

By the way, I wouldn’t hook up to the happy machine either. Being at the same level of happiness all the time doesn’t make for good writing.