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DON’T EAT THE MARSHMALLOW: LEARNING DELAYED GRATIFICATION

Ah, the famous marshmallow study of the 1960s.

You know the one. A group of four-year-olds were put in a room with just a chair and a table. Given the option of picking either a marshmallow, a cookie, or a pretzel stick, most chose the gooey, fluffy marshmallow.

Then came the hard part. The children were told they could eat one marshmallow immediately, or, if they waited until the researcher left and returned again, they could have two gooey, fluffy marshmallows.

Some little ones popped the prize into their mouths before the researcher even shut the door behind him. Two marshmallows? Who cares? I have one delicious treat right in front of me, and I am going to eat it right now because it looks super yummy. Their pint-sized brains were whirring.

Unfortunately, the same kind of thinking has tripped me up many, many times.

“Shoes! Fabulous shoes! Right in front of me? I must have them!”

Indulgence now—it’s the bane of our culture’s financial existence.

We want what we want when we want it, kind of like those drooling four-year-olds in the study. “It is human nature to want it and want it now; it is also a sign of immaturity,” wrote Dave Ramsey in his book Total Money Makeover (3rd ed.). “Being willing to delay pleasure for a greater result is a sign of maturity” (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009, 17).

The children in the marshmallow study were tracked for years by the researchers, who found that those munchkins who wrestled with temptation but found a way to resist grew up to be better adjusted, had less behavioral problems, and scored an average of 210 points higher on the SAT test.

Delayed gratification is a particularly fine quality of the Amish, who are major long-term thinkers. Take Ella.

“We rented a farm our first twenty years of marriage,” she told me as I sat in her kitchen and watched her bake, the sweet aromas of juicy apples, sugar, and butter drifting deliciously from her stove. “Renting seems like a dead horse, but we had to do it that way.

“There were a lot of things we wanted to do but didn’t do,” she went on. “Some women would not be happy with that— just spending on what was absolutely necessary. I would have loved to have linoleum floors and a sun porch for my sewing machine. It never happened. I just waited.

“We focused,” she concluded, “on buying a farm.”

Talk about big-picture thinking! Ella (and her Amish friends) probably would have been in the group that resisted the one marshmallow and were rewarded with two.

I can’t help but think the Amish would have also made their own squishy orbs of sugar and gelatin, possibly grinding the collagen themselves from the hooves of their farm animals. Let’s not put it past them.

I tried making homemade marshmallows one Christmas, and my children are still horrified by the memory. Imagine, if you will, a slimy slab of tofu infused with the sweetness of a thousand packets of Splenda. That’s how well that worked out.

But I digress.

It’s a core idea in Amish culture that you wait for what you want, which in many cases is a farm for your children and grandchildren. “We are taught not to just buy whatever we please, but rather to work and save to pay for it,” Bishop Ephraim told me.

It seems so simple. But apparently, our culture seems to have the patience of a drooling four-year-old. Okay, so I have the patience of a drooling four-year-old. Are you happy now? But so do you, probably. I’m just saying . . .

Delaying gratification is tricky, experts believe, for the same reason that diets often hit the skids. The brain has a hard time accepting the trade-off of instant delight (eating or spending) for abstract, far-off goals, such as looking reasonably presentable in a swimsuit or having money in the bank for a rainy day.

Back to marshmallows: would you be able to wait a year to get a thousand dollars versus getting five hundred bucks today? Ooh, that’s a tough one. But if we do exercise that kind of self-control, then we probably won’t buy things on credit cards because we see something and want it. Learning delayed gratification means being able to save money toward a vacation next year, a college education in ten years, and a retirement that may be decades away.

One of my biggest issues with postponing the purchase of what I crave today and, instead, saving for what I want in ten years is that my goals are rather vague and flabby. A few years ago, I told my dad that I was going to go to Vancouver for the 2010 Olympics. It kind of annoyed me when he said, “Start putting away money now” rather than “That would be really fun!” Apparently, I had this fuzzy notion that the money would pour in at the right time.

But guess what? It turns out, you really do reap what you sow. In four years’ time, I frittered away any extra cash that may have been socked away for an Olympic trip on shoes, dresses, books, lamps, pedis, pizza—you get the picture. When it came time to plunk down a few thousand dollars for a Vancouver trip, there was no money in that fund. In fact, there was no fund! There was no great, shining Olympic moment for me either (and it’s too late to take up speed skating now).

However, when we are focused on a goal, like buying a farm someday or, like Sara, taking a great anniversary trip, that clarity of purpose can help us say no to all kinds of things:

In four years’ time, I frittered away any extra cash that may have been socked away for an Olympic trip on shoes, dresses, books, lamps, pedis, pizza— you get the picture.

Sara: “When Drew and I first got married, we were dirt-poor! We survived on mac ’n’ cheese and frozen pizza, and it was only through a dear friend who paid me a borderline-exorbitant amount to hang out with her child after work that we had gas money. Somehow, though, we managed to save three thousand dollars in one year for a first anniversary trip to Maine. We used part of the money to buy a set of bikes and a rack for our car so we could take the bikes with us.

During that first year (and I think a couple after that), we had no cell phones, no Internet, no date nights; but man, did we have one awesome first anniversary trip. It was definitely worth the scrimping!”

What is “worth the scrimping” to you? When you know what that is—a special vacation, a kitchen remodel, a hybrid car, a summer cottage—you can take aim at having it someday by saying no to yourself regularly in the everyday.

This is definitely another “thrift muscle” that needs to have a regular workout. A highly disciplined friend from college once told me he made it a practice to say no to himself once a day. Whether it was forgoing fast food, not watching too much TV, or refusing to spend money on something frivolous, he felt the practice helped him be more disciplined in all areas of his life.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a little burst of energy and self-respect when I say no to flippant spending. Yet when I cave in and buy something on a whim, or something I don’t really need, I feel a little sick, as if I overindulged at the amusement park, inhaling a deep-fried Twinkie when a fudge bar would have sufficed.

You can take aim at having it someday by saying no to yourself regularly in the everyday.

When I exercise a little self-control, I end up being glad I did. A couple of summers ago, I was in a high-end department store and saw a sundress I absolutely adored on sight. It was, as they say, screaming my name. However, when I dashed over to see how much that gorgeous thing would set me back, I was halted in my tracks. Seventy-nine dollars, for a sundress! Well, there was no way I could justify that. “I’ll wait for it to go on sale,” I told myself bravely—Buck up, little camper—and marched out of the store, a little deflated, yet also feeling that pop of verve that only a display of willpower can deliver.

A couple of weeks later, I was in a lower-end store (much lower-end) and noticed a very pretty sundress in all my favorite colors. It was fourteen dollars—totally justifiable! Can I tell you that low-end sundress became one of my favorite things to wear for two summers? And the compliments! My word, it got embarrassing. Well, maybe it wasn’t that drastic, but I did get lots of praise for that fourteen-dollar sundress.

The pricey frock? I went back a few times, but I never did catch it on sale. Besides, by the next summer, the trend was over—way over. I had wrestled, resisted, and triumphed in the end. I should definitely try that more often.

Experts say it all starts when you’re young. In chapter 2, I talk about how the Amish teach delayed gratification as a matter of course to their children from the time they are small. So when Moses and Mary grow up and hitch their buggies together, they won’t be making many thoughtless and trivial purchases.

Walter Mischel, the Stanford professor of psychology in charge of the marshmallow experiment, was quoted in a 2009 New Yorker article: “‘This is where your parents are important,’” he said. “‘Have they established rituals that force you to delay on a daily basis? Do they encourage you to wait? And do they make waiting worthwhile?’ According to Mischel, even the most mundane routines of childhood—such as not snacking before dinner, or saving up your allowance, or holding out until Christmas morning—are really sly exercises in cognitive training: we’re teaching ourselves how to think so that we can outsmart our desires” (Jonah Lehrer, “Don’t!” New Yorker, May 19, 2009, 6).

Parents, we can teach our kids that waiting can be wonderfully worthwhile and give them a gift for life. But even if our own parents never taught us how to “outsmart our desires,” there’s no time like today to apply a little “delay training.”

How can we say no to the marshmallows that keep popping up front and center on our radars?

THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE

I imagine Ella, Sadie, Amos—all of them focused for years on buying farms—trained themselves to think about the pot of gold at the end of that long and tedious rainbow: the family farm.

Dr. Mischel, after umpteen hours of observation, realized the patient kids had a crucial skill that the hasty tots did not. He called it “strategic allocation of attention.” Instead of getting infatuated with the marshmallow—the “hot stimulus,” he called it—the enduring children sidetracked their attention from the yummy treat and pretended to play hide-and-seek under the desk or sang songs from their favorite TV show.

“If you’re thinking about the marshmallow and how delicious it is, then you’re going to eat it,” Mischel said. “The key is to avoid thinking about it in the first place” (Lehrer, 3).

So don’t think about those shoes! Instead, visualize yourself lying in a hammock in Fiji, or entertaining dignitaries in your fabulous remodeled kitchen.

Fritter Not, My Friend

Even the word fritter is a fun, sugary word—delicious, even, coated in batter and deep-fried. But there’s nothing delicious about blowing money mindlessly. It can deep-fry you, though. Check out your bank statement and see how much money you simply fritter away on impulsive little things, like ice cream and pizza and magazines and lattes and (fill in the blank).

My weakness is lattes. Talk about a “hot stimulus.” A tall mocha latte from a coffeehouse is $3, and I could pretty much have one every day. Now let’s do the math:

$3 x 5 = $15 per week.

$15 x 4 = $60—$60 a month for coffee!

It gets worse.

$60 x 12 = $720.

What could I buy with $720? Where do I start? A new microwave, among other things, maybe?

Check out your bank statement and see how much money you simply fritter away on impulsive little things.

Even if I treated myself to one latte per week and skipped the other four, I would still be in the black $576. Furthermore, I could make my own lattes at home for super cheap (one pound of coffee yields about forty-five 8-ounce cups; even a premium brand, such as Starbucks, at $11.99 a pound, would generate forty-five cups of joe at $0.26 a pour).

It’s shocking, I tell you, to discover the lavish dissipation of one’s frittering. When you think about it, this is merely like saying no a few times a day to mini marshmallows. It will be wonderful practice for when you are faced with a regulation-size, air-puffed temptation. So fire up that old dust-gathering cappuccino machine you got for a wedding present, and fritter not, my friend.

Still Want it?

Here’s a canny formula for calculating the true value of something you really, really want. Say you fall in love with a $100 pair of shoes. Try this simple math before you do anything rash: Write down your pretax income (say, $40,000), subtract 25 percent for taxes ($10,000), and divide what’s left ($30,000) by 2,000 (the hours you work in a year). At $15 an hour, you’d need to work seven hours for those shoes. Are they still worth it?

Small Luxuries

You’ll notice I said I would still be buying myself one latte per week. Hey, a girl has to treat herself once in a while, right? I’m a firm believer in the idea that a small indulgence here and there can get someone over the hump. Just as a chocolate kiss can tide me over when I’m suffering from a cocoa bean craving, sometimes a teensy trinket serves to restore my willpower so I won’t spend more than I can afford.

No need to quit spending cold turkey—just cool turkey.

The Amish, a people of stone-cold impulse control, don’t really understand the concept of wee indulgences. Bishop Jake, for example, didn’t get it when I asked him what his idea of a “small luxury” was.

“Let’s say you wanted to treat yourself with a little something special,” I said, smiling and nodding encouragingly. His Chihuahua (an Amish Chihuahua!), Rufus, began barking crazily.

“Ice cream,” he said, sure that that would be it, and I would leave him and Rufus in peace. But every Amish person I asked this question had answered with ice cream.

“Besides ice cream?”

“Okay, now you’re pushing me down low!” he said in exasperation, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Salad dressing! Now, that would be a treat!”

When I pressed Ella in a similar fashion, she eventually cracked. “Ritz.” Yes, the crackers. She sighed happily at the thought. “I just love the Ritz. But we usually buy crackers in bulk. Or make our own.”

Now when I see a box of Ritz crackers, I have to smile.

Seriously, the lady is pining for a four-dollar box of crackers! It just goes to show, money doesn’t buy happiness, and the Amish know how to control impulses big and small.

Bishop Jake and Ella sure aren’t going to squander their hard-earned money very often on a bottle of ranch dressing or a tin of buttery crackers, not when there’s a farm to be saved for. But once in a while, they will let themselves have a little delicacy.

These modest “extravagances” made me think about recalibrating my own treat scale. Instead of a thirty-dollar T-shirt from a concert (and as an entertainment writer, I go to lots of concerts), maybe a ten-dollar mug will scratch the itch.

Oh, but isn’t that fritter city, lady? A ten-dollar mug? It would be frittering, if I also bought a three-dollar latte every day, a four-dollar glossy magazine per week, and another ten-dollar mug the next week when I went to a different show. If you can keep a lid on the small stuff, by tracking spending and saying no often, a delightful little something may actually keep you on task for the long haul.

Besides, it’s a good thing to adjust our thinking when it comes to why, how, and how often we treat ourselves, especially when things are tight.

“In hard times, people look for different levels of luxury,” explained Norman Love, founder of Norman Love Confections. “When you open a box of premium chocolates, you feel rich. I can buy two pieces of chocolate for $5. The Queen of England can’t buy any better chocolate than you can” (Jacqueline Mitchard, http://www.parade.com/food/2010/02/14-why-the-world-needs-chocolate.html).

Chocolate, Ritz crackers, salad dressing—whatever gets your buggy going, a small dose of it might help you refocus on the big picture.

Ultimately, it all boils down to delaying gratification now for a big payoff later on. If, as Dr. Mischel said, “intelligence is largely at the mercy of self-control,” the Amish are the schmartest people around (Lehman, 2).

The bottom line: focus on what you want in the future, and learn to say no to all those distracting, alluring, big, and small marshmallows right now.

Did you know there are actually T-shirts that say, “Don’t eat the marshmallow”?

I want one of those shirts. But I think that purchase is just going to have to wait.