When you’re chronically indecisive, selecting the ‘perfect’ Christmas tree is just awful
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Version 0 of 1. I love buying a Christmas tree. I like how they smell, the way they feel in my fingers. I like to stand in the middle of the lot when no one else is around and look at the rows and rows of trees as far as the eye can see. You can be in the middle of suburban New Jersey, but it feels like you’re in the middle of a forest. It feels that way because there are so many. Too many, really, and it can turn a perfectly lovely experience into an utterly vexing nightmare. I’ve always been indecisive. Whether it’s buying a Christmas tree or choosing which granola or vinaigrette salad dressing to buy, I find myself mulling the decision for what seems like an eternity. Indecision is a hard problem to overcome, though, because it’s a paradox: I don’t trust my own judgment, so by definition, any decision I make is the wrong one, simply because I’m the one making it. It’s a little like having disdain for a club that would have you as a member. Why the indecision, for something as simple as selecting a Christmas tree? There’s not a lot of research on it. John Dolan, a clinical psychologist in Pittsford, N.Y., says perfectionism plays a role. So does growing up among people who second-guessed your decisions. For many people, the plethora of choices we have these days can make weighing items against each other a head-spinning endeavor. Dolan recalled going out to buy a flat-screen television recently. There were so many choices, it became a grueling, unpleasant process, even for someone who is not indecisive. “The more choices you have, the worse it gets,” Dolan said. That’s particularly true for those known as “maximizers,” said Barry Schwartz, who teaches decision-making at the Haas School of Business at the University of California at Berkeley. If your aim is to get the best, having to choose just one out of an inordinate number of choices is a lot worse than if you’re someone whose aim is to simply get “good enough.” “If you’re looking for ‘good enough,’ you don’t have to examine every option. Once you find one that meets your standard, whatever that may be, you can stop looking and choose,” Schwartz said. “If you’re looking for the best, you can’t stop looking until you’ve examined every possibility.” The thing about Christmas trees, he said, is that while they’re trivial, there are lots of options, and that variety makes even a trivial decision like picking a tree more meaningful. In his research into decision-making, he has found that when there are two options, there isn’t enough variety for the choice to become a reflection of someone’s identity. But when there are 100 or 2,000 options, there’s enough variety for that choice to become a statement of who they are. “Do you support underdogs, and so you buy the scrawniest, scraggliest tree in the lot, and it’s like a badge of honor? Rehabilitate the weakest among us? Are you excessively materialistic, so you buy the biggest most expensive tree you can find?” he asked. “It’s no longer just a tree. Now, it’s a tree and a statement about you. And once that’s true, there’s no longer any trivial decisions.” Such was likely my state of mind when I arrived at the tree nursery and headed straight for the Fraser firs. They have a beautiful shape and color, their branches are curved and springy, like Starfish legs. I walked up and down the aisles eyeing the merchandise and as I passed a tree I liked, I’d touch a couple of branches like I was embracing its hands. “Can I help you?” asked a saleswoman with gray braids. “I’m good. Just trying to find the perfect tree,” I said. “I love buying Christmas trees.” I needed one that would fit my small living room but didn’t want one that was so skinny, it looked anemic. A Christmas tree should be tall and wide enough, but not too overwhelming for the spot. Bringing home a tree is like inviting a person into your home. You don’t want someone who will be piggish once they get inside. I soon was sure I’d found just the right tree. It was the perfect height, not too wide, and had a pretty blue shimmer. Some Fraser firs have a yellow hue I don’t like, from growing on the sunny side of the mountain. This one didn’t. As I contemplated the tree, I noticed another one diagonally across from it that was a little short and stout. You wanted to get lost in its arms. I made a mental note of the two trees, but just in case there was something better I ventured farther into the lot. In the far corner, I spotted a tree I liked very much — until I got closer and noticed an errant branch protruding out from the back of it. When I touched the branch, it came off in my hand, leaving a gaping hole. It was like tugging on a tooth that falls out. I was horrified, but only for a second because right next to it was the most perfect tree I’d ever seen. I was marveling at the tree’s bountiful bushiness when I spotted a couple walking into the lot, and they were heading right for the two trees I’d already scoped out at the front of the lot. I quickly walked over there and began hovering, as if I was about to buy one. As I loitered by the two trees, I noticed a third nearby that seemed to have everything I sought. But when I turned around to compare it to my two other favorites, I couldn’t find them. I had so many favorites at that point, I couldn’t keep track of them. It reminded me of chess, when I plot out so many moves ahead that I forget my initial move, and I wind up losing my queen to a pawn. What began as a pleasant experience had become dizzying. I was starting to feel weary. Depleted. It took awhile but I finally narrowed it down to three trees. But I’d pawed each one so much I’d stripped off some needles like an anxious child wearing the fur off a teddy bear. I was at an impasse. I tried using price as a guide, but my favorite of the bunch cost just $40 while the other two were $45, making me think I had no idea what a good tree looks like. I looked from one tree to the other and then back again, and I simply could not whittle the pool down any further. I was paralyzed, mired in indecision. It was painful. I hate buying a Christmas tree. It’s a reminder of my utter inability to make choices. I must have been standing in the middle of the Christmas tree lot for some time because as the saleswoman with the braids walked by, she asked me if everything was okay. “I’m dying here. Help me decide,” I said, and pointed to the three trees in the running. “Rate them on a scale of 1 to 10,” she said. She pointed to the first one. “8,” I said. “Now this one,” she said. “Um, 7,” I said. “Now this one,” she said. “6.75,” I said. “I guess I have my answer.” She and another woman carried the tree over to a table and dropped it on its side and began sliding it into a net. I hadn’t really seen the tree from that angle. It suddenly looked a bit sparse, like its needles weren’t full enough. “Do you think — ” The woman with the braids paused and turned to look at me. “You picked a really nice tree,” she said. “I did?” “You did,” she said. “I did,” I said. I love buying a Christmas tree. At 26, he’s still seeing his pediatrician: Why some adults don’t move on. She had a son at 47. 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