On Happiness and the Myth of a “Balanced Life”

I have a problem. My parents jokingly call it “Stockholm Syndrome” (not that that’s funny) and my friends, by and large, are the most patient human beings on the planet. This is because I LOVE what I do. I love it so much that I can turn anything — and I do mean anything — into economics. Mostly, I suppose, because economics is about everything. But that’s another story.

I fell into economics completely accidentally. In fact, there could not have been a more accidental career choice. Six years ago, before I started studying economics, I flew helicopters. Two years after that, I was working on a game farm. In the time in between, I sold books to school libraries for a small, privately-owned bookstore.

Four years ago, when I actually started studying economics, it was because my father told me I had to study something “useful” and neither political science nor philosophy (in his mind, at least) made that cut (in my mind, philosophy is the single most useful thing I have ever studied).

Recently, a friend (who knows me better than he has any right to) asked me whether I really enjoy economics or if I have simply tricked myself into it. It’s a good question. His point was simple: he’s worried about my happiness because, in his mind, anyone who is this focused on work is unbalanced. He’s probably right.

Last year, around this time, I would have said that he was most definitely right.

I had decided to skip mid-year vac to try and get some work done. I decided this because I wanted to be a dedicated student, I wanted to write an excellent thesis and I wanted to get work done. Because I enjoyed the work.

My parents were unconvinced.

And who could blame them when I called my mom on the way home from campus — at 2am — and begged her to let me come home. I was on a flight the next day.

Upon arrival, I slept for two days. And then… I went with my parents to the office and worked on my thesis. As it turns out, even when it’s making me miserable, economics makes me happy.

When you’ve done something other people find interesting, like flying helicopters or working on a game farm, a lot of people ask you the same questions. The two most popular of these are “Do you miss it?” and “Would you ever go back?”. Those are tough questions to answer: “Of course I miss it” and “I’d love to go back” are true but innacurate.

This is because people are seldom asking what they mean. What they mean is “Would you rather be flying?” and the answer is a resounding “No”. Sure, the exhilaration, the challenge and the experiences gained in ‘that kind’ of life are the kind of experiences that are miss-able.

But the real question is the one this friend asked: “If someone told you, right now, that you couldn’t study economics anymore; what would you be doing?” The actual answer is uninteresting (philosophy, as it happens) but what is interesting is this:

When I consider the hypothetical life in which I am no longer allowed to study economics, I would still be studying economics. I would read economics; I would build models as best I could; I would think about the same questions and problems.

This, apparently, is a Bad Thing.

It’s a Bad Thing because it’s unbalanced. Which brings me to my point: we tend to think of ideal lives as lives that are balanced in some sense. And, doubtless, it’s true. But the way in which we discuss it often has an implicit assumption: it assumes that the bias in our balance (in my case, towards over-working) makes us unhappy.

In my twenty-five years of experience, I have determined this much: an ideal life is one where what you’re doing makes you happy, even when it doesn’t. Even when I’m exhausted, over-worked, under-paid, angry, sad, miserable, frustrated… there is still nothing else I would rather be doing.

The same goes for relationships. Perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever heard was in my father’s vows: “I promise to love you, even when I do not like you.” I want a career that I hold to the same standards as my romantic engagements (except, of course, that I am far more successful in my career than my romantic engagements…nevertheless).

I suppose, at the core of it all, this is because I’m an economist and believe (somewhat) in the concept of utility maximization. The basic principle of which is Marginal Cost = Marginal Benefit. Considering the Axioms of Consumer Preference (specifically, Diminishing Rates of Marginal Substitution) gives me my fundamental life principle: do what makes you the most happy most often but don’t get stuck in a corner.

[Note: I never did convince that friend. I don’t think I ever will.]