by Meik Wiking
We chatted for a minute, and I remember his exact words as he said, “I’m sorry, but I think you might have stepped in something.”
Indeed I had. A dog turd. A big one. One that seemed to have my shoe in a chokehold. I had smeared it on the carpets in the new office, and on the carpets in the long hall. One hundred meters of humiliation.
If you are one of those people who is just walking along and suddenly remembers that embarrassing thing you did years ago, don’t worry, you are not alone.
Embarrassment sticks. But you may want to turn it into a shtick. Your thing. Your go-to joke. I’ve found that my embarrassing moments lose some of their power if I take control of them and laugh at them.
The story of my first day at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is on page one of the employee manual at the Happiness Research Institute. I want my new colleagues to know that, whatever mistake they might make in their first week, I’ve made worse.
In addition, sometimes, when I do a presentation, I will start with the “Danish porn” story, just to let people know that English is not my first language and that if there is anything that is unclear, they should feel free to raise their hand and ask questions. Perhaps you could also consider how you can take some of your embarrassing moments and turn them into entertaining anecdotes—it could be a way of stripping them of their power.
Chapter VI
Capture Peaks and Struggles
THE PEAK—END EFFECT
So let me ask you a question. Imagine that, at the end of your next holiday, you will forget everything.
You will have no memory of the beauty of Kyoto’s temples, no memory of hiking to the top of Mount Fuji, and absolutely no memory of murdering “Yesterday” in one of Tokyo’s many karaoke bars. Your memory—gone. Your pictures—gone.
The question is, if, at the end of your next holiday, you knew you would be given a drug that would cause amnesia and you would not be able to remember anything, how would you plan your holiday? If you would experience it, but have no memory of that experience, what would you do?
This thought experiment was first posed by Daniel Kahneman, Professor of Psychology and Public Affairs Emeritus at the Woodrow Wilson School and the Eugene Higgins Professor of Psychology Emeritus at Princeton University. Even though he is not an economist, he received the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics in 2002. He has been presented with an Award for Outstanding Lifetime Contributions to Psychology by the American Psychological Association and he has been awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama. It is difficult to remember all this—so just think of him as the Beyoncé of behavioral economics.
Among other things, Kahneman has studied how our “experiencing selves” and our “remembering selves” perceive happiness differently. The experiencing self, who lives in the present, or for about three seconds at a time, 500 million times throughout our lives, and the remembering self, who is relatively permanent and does their best to keep a track record of all their experiences. In other words, our remembering self is the one that tells the story of our life.
Going back to the holiday, for the experiencing self, the second week of a holiday is just as good as the first. Two weeks’ holiday is therefore twice as good as a one-week holiday. But for the remembering self, if the second week was similar to the first week, it did not produce additional memories, so there was no additional benefit. The story is the same: Went to Cancun, water was warm, drank Margaritas; it was nice.
So that was a thought experiment—but actual experiments have also shown that the experiencing self and the remembering self disagree.
In one study, Kahneman and his team asked the participants to put one hand in water which was 14°C for sixty seconds. The National Center for Cold Water Safety calls 14°C “very dangerous.” (In Denmark, we call it summer. Mind you, the participants were students at the University of California. Anyway . . . let’s get back to the study.) That was the first trial. In the second trial the participants were asked to put their other hand in water at 14°C for sixty seconds then keep that hand in the water for thirty seconds longer as the temperature of the water was gradually raised to 15°C, still painful, but distinctly less so for most participants, who indicated their level of discomfort during the experiment.
After the two trials—the shorter, sixty-second trial in 14°C water, and the longer sixty seconds in 14°C then thirty seconds at 15°C—the participants were given a choice of which trial to repeat. A significant majority chose to repeat the second trial, the longer one, with as much pain as the first trial, plus a little more. Apparently, they preferred more pain over less.
The study by Kahneman suggested that duration plays a small role in retrospective evaluations of experiences; such evaluations are often dominated by the discomfort at the worst and at the final moments of episodes. This is called the peak–end effect, or peak–end rule.
Kahneman and his colleagues have tested and retested this peak–end effect with film clips, getting people to watch other people’s discomfort—even colonoscopies.
Colonoscopy patients were randomly divided into two groups. The first group underwent a normal colonoscopy procedure. The second group underwent the same procedure, but the scope was left in for three additional minutes, but not moved during that time, creating an experience that was uncomfortable, but not painful.
Kahneman and his team found that when the patients were later asked to evaluate their experiences, the patients who underwent the longer procedure rated their experience as less unpleasant than the patients who underwent the typical procedure. Moreover, the patients in the second group with the prolonged procedure were more likely to return for subsequent procedures because a less painful end led them to remember the procedure more positively.
According to Kahneman, the peak–end rule is that our memory of past experience (whether pleasant or unpleasant) does not correspond to an average level of positive or negative feelings but to the most extreme point and the end of the episode.
It can also be seen as the tyranny of our memory. The tyranny of our remembering self is dragging the experiencing self through an experience that is more unpleasant for the experiencing self. In that sense, our remembering self is kind of a prick.
Several studies have demonstrated the peak–end rule. And it goes beyond pain, and applies to material goods—in fact, Hallowe’en candy.
Researchers Amy Do, Alexander Rupert and George Wolford from Dartmouth College in the US set up their experiment in a house that was frequently visited by children on Hallowe’en night.
On Hallowe’en, twenty-eight trick-or-treaters with the average age of around ten came to the house. All the kids were given different combinations of candy and asked to rate their happiness levels in relation to it. Seven different happiness levels were shown by using smiley-face symbols ranging from neutral to “open-mouthed-grin smiley face.” Some kids were given a full-size Hershey’s chocolate bar, some kids were given a piece of gum, some kids were given first a Hershey’s bar then a piece of gum, and some kids were given first a Hershey’s bar then another Hershey’s bar. You would expect more candy to equal more happiness. But the children getting a chocolate bar then a piece of gum were less happy than the kids who received just the chocolate bar. And two chocolate bars did not bring more happiness than one chocolate bar.
Source: Do, Rupert and Wolford, “Evaluations of Pleasurable Experiences: the Peak-End Rule,” Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 2008.
In a similar study, a group of five Dutch pedagogical and educational researchers explored how the peak–end rule affects how children experience feedback from their friends.
Seventy-four primary school children around the age of ten took part in the experiment and were told that they would receive feedback from their classmates about their behavior, for example, “How well do you think Meik communicates with other children in the class?” or “How well do you think Meik follows the rules?” The ratings were “insufficient,” “insufficient to
sufficient,” “sufficient,” “sufficient to good” and “good.”
First, the participants were asked to assess two of their classmates, then, later, the participants would receive the feedback on them. Students were led to believe that the feedback was from the assessments filled in by their classmates; however, the feedback they received was manipulated by the experimenters. At this point, you should know that the parents of the children had been informed about the experiment and had given their consent, the children had been tested for depression and anxiety and the study had been approved by the Ethics Committee of the Institute of Psychology of the Erasmus University Rotterdam. Nevertheless, I still think it’s a bit mean.
Thirty of the kids received an assessment consisting of (a) four negative ratings (insufficient) and (b) another assessment consisting of one of four negative ratings followed by one moderately negative rating (“insufficient to sufficient’).
The forty-four other kids also received two assessments, but instead of negative ratings they received positive ones: first, four positive ratings (c) then another assessment with four positive ratings followed by one moderately positive rating (d).
The students were then asked how pleasant it was to receive the assessment and to what extent they would like to receive this assessment again, on a scale from 0 to 100. As expected, the students found the negative assessments very unpleasant and the positive assessments very pleasant.
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The students who had received negative assessments preferred (b) over (a)—feedback that finished with a moderately negative assessment; and the students who received the positive feedback preferred (c) over (d)—the assessment without the moderately positive ending.
The study suggests that evaluation can be made more pleasant for students by ending with the best part of the evaluation and that the order of the feedback may have an impact on motivation, learning and the relationships between the students.
So the take-home message is that, in the art of making memories, we need to keep in mind that the ending is important and the peak is important. And sometimes, to reach the peak, we need to struggle—and when it comes to memorable experiences, that might not be a bad thing.
HAPPY MEMORY TIP:
END ON A HIGH NOTE
Save the best for last.
Across different studies, it has been demonstrated that our memory of an event is heavily influenced by the peak and the end. So, if you’re planning on giving several gifts for Christmas or a birthday, make sure you save the best one for last. Also, since remembered utility is an important influence on our future choices, if you want your kids to participate in something again, be sure to end on a high note.
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THE STRUGGLE IS REAL MEMORABLE
Last year, I was in Rome for the launch of the World Happiness Report.
As well as taking part in the conference and catching up with other happiness researchers, I had another objective in Rome: getting my hands on an ancient Roman coin. But not just any old Roman coin, one with the Roman goddess Felicitas on the back.
Felicitas signifies a state of peace, prosperity and general good fortune. On the coin, she holds in one hand a cornucopia—also known as the horn of plenty—a symbol of abundance and nourishment. In her other hand she holds a caduceus, a short staff entwined by two serpents, which represents Mercury, the Roman equivalent of the Greek god Hermes, symbolizing trade and prosperity.
At the Happiness Research Institute we have been gathering pieces for our Happiness Museum in Copenhagen, which is scheduled to open after this book is published. It will be an exhibition on the Science of Happiness. How do we measure happiness? The Anatomy of Happiness. Where in the brain does happiness sit? The Atlas of Happiness. Why are some countries happier than others? And the History of Happiness. How has the concept of happiness evolved over time? The ancient Roman coin is a part of that collection.
I had found it online, but I wanted to find it in Rome because it would make a better memory. Yes, it would require more effort than just adding it to the online basket. I had researched and found three different numismatic shops in Rome. The first one was just around the corner from my hotel near the Vatican. It was a tiny shop, around 7 square meters, and the selection was limited, with no coins depicting my desired goddess. I continued on foot to the second shop, located on Via del Corso, the main shopping street in Rome. After searching for the shop for a while, I came to the conclusion that it had shut down a while back and had been replaced by a clothes shop. So my last hope was the third shop—Filatelia Central on Via due Macelli, a five-minute walk from the Spanish Steps, entered through a tiny alley. I say “walk”—but it was the end of the day and, afraid the shop would be closed, I began to run. I found the store and told the gentleman there what I was looking for.
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“Maybe we have something,” he said, “but we’ll have to search for it.”
The thing is, the coins were organized according to which emperor was on the front, not what was on the back, so we examined hundreds of coins, turning them over, studying the back with a magnifying glass. A magnifying glass! How awesome is that! I realized that I use a magnifying glass way too little.
After three quarters of an hour, Felicitas suddenly appeared in the magnifying glass. On the front of the coin was Publius Septimius Geta, who was emperor for three years. Geta was the younger son of Septimius Severus (who came after Commodus—the guy whose ass gets kicked by Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator). Geta and his older brother Caracalla were presented as equally suitable heirs to the throne—perhaps to show more “depth” to the dynasty—and had pledged on the deathbed of their father to remain united. However, just a few months after Severus’s death, his sons formed rival factions and fought for supremacy. Pretending that he was hoping for reconciliation, Caracalla scheduled a meeting at their mother’s house, but, instead, Geta was ambushed and murdered. Afterwards, Caracalla ordered sculptures, coins and images of his brother to be destroyed so that Geta would be forgotten.
This reminded me of something the psychologist Dorothy Rowe pointed out about siblings. When kids are young, they fight over their parents’ attention, but when they get older, siblings battle over who has the most truthful, accurate memory of their shared past.
But Caracalla did not get his way—and I got my coin. After a bit of an adventure and magnifying-glass lollapalooza.
That is what makes it memorable. In the Happy Memory Study we conducted at the Happiness Research Institute, 22 percent of people’s memories involved a peak or a struggle. Sometimes, the struggle was the main part of the story. Imagine if Indiana Jones had simply stumbled upon the Arc of the Covenant (Oh, that’s where I left it!), or if he’d ordered the cup of Christ on eBay. Both stories would make really lousy movies. Overcoming the struggle is why we celebrate. The peak is the peak because of the climb.
And yes, I did partly acquire the ancient Roman coin so I could deliver the Indiana Jones line, “That thing belongs in a museum.”
The shopkeeper didn’t get it.
HAPPY MEMORY TIP:
CONSIDER TAKING THE LONG ROUTE
Make the journey part of the experience.
In an era of impatience and instant gratification, one way to make things more memorable is to delay your arrival. If you have spent five hours hiking to the peak, it makes the experience greater than if you took the fifteen-minute cable car up there. For some trips, it may also make sense to take a train instead of a plane. You will get there slower, but you may have a much more enjoyable journey. Trains—the tantra of travel.
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THE MORE UPHILL THE STRUGGLE, THE SWEETER THE VICTORY
To me, soccer is like watching grass grow with people in the way. I’ve never understood why twenty-two people running around after a ball is so fascinating. It would be equally rational if people were passio
nate about, say, origami.
Imagine that every morning the news broadcast ends with the latest results in origami. The Chinese team of folders won the match against the French team with a swan. Eighty-eight folds. It would be followed by the advertisements for the big game, Barcelona versus Madrid, the archrivals of origami. Last season, the lead folder in Barcelona, Takahashi, was transferred to Madrid for $1.2 billion. As a consequence, Barcelona fans—the Shredders—were furious and assaulted fans from Madrid.
On your way to work, you see origami folders on billboards. They are paid millions to advertise luxury bags, cars and perfumes: A4 by Calvin Klein. At work, you grab a coffee and say good morning to your colleagues. “Did you watch the fold last night? France will totally lose out on the OWC.” That’s the Origami World Cup. Four weeks of non-stop live broadcasting of men folding swans, dolphins and giraffes. Exciting stuff. Women fold, too, but they are paid around 10 percent of what men are.
Professional folders who have retired now work as commentators. “Oh my God, he’s going for the hippo. He’s going for the hippo. The audacity. Classic Takahashi strategy. Oh, no, my God. A papercut! Oh, no—he’ll be out for the season. That is a devastating blow to the Japanese team.”
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All the countries in the world aim to compete in the OWC—except the US, as they use a different shape of paper—a shorter, wider one than the A4, so their teams compete in a different league. If you stand next to a group of men in the pub, you will overhear a fiery discussion over A4 versus the 8.5 by 11 inch. “You’ll never get a proper giraffe out of the A4, mate!”
