At 8 o’clock in the morning, I am a person of considerable resolve.
I will exercise before breakfast. I may even stretch afterward, a practice I have long admired in others. Tonight, I will eat a sensible dinner, go to bed on time and return to the half-read novel on my nightstand instead of scrolling on my phone.
But alas, at 10:30 p.m., this resolve is difficult to find. I am watching a French crime drama. The mayor has been murdered in a picturesque village in Provence. There are several suspects, a world-weary detective newly arrived from Paris and no prospect of bedtime until the case is solved.
What happened to that person from breakfast?
It is tempting to blame willpower, as though somewhere in the brain there is a small department responsible for good behavior and mine has closed for the evening.
Possibly there was a budget cut.
Of course, I am the same person at 10:30 who made those plans at breakfast. What has changed is not what I want, but what is being offered right now.
In the morning, exercise, healthy food and an early bedtime are attractive concepts. By 10:30 p.m., they must compete with the beckoning couch, a glass of cabernet sauvignon, some dark chocolate and the mayor’s untimely death.
My morning plans promise future rewards. Their competitors are available immediately.
And “now” has a considerable advantage.
Psychologists call this “delay discounting.” The longer we must wait for a reward, the less valuable it tends to feel in the present. Exercise offers benefits somewhere down the road. The couch is making its case right now. Vegetables may reduce our risk of disease by maybe 2037. A full-bodied cabernet sauvignon and a piece of chocolate offer a more immediate return.
The challenge becomes especially difficult when a phone is involved. Reading a book can be deeply satisfying, but it asks for some time and attention. A phone offers new possibilities with every glance.
Our attraction to novelty has deep roots. In the world our brains evolved to navigate, something new might have provided useful information about food, danger, friend or foe.
Today, novelty arrives on a screen: a message we’ve been waiting for, breaking news or 20 percent off the shoes we bought last week.
We must look to find out.
Our alert system is efficient. Its spam filter is less impressive.
Repeated behavior makes the pull stronger. When we follow the same cue with the same action often enough, the sequence begins to require very little thought. Finish dinner, sit down, reach for the phone. Pour a little more wine, reach for something
sweet. Turn on one episode, and the next starts automatically before we’ve even decided to keep watching.
Most of the time, habits make life easier. They allow us to brush our teeth, make coffee and perform countless familiar tasks without convening a committee. The difficulty comes when we decide to change for the better, but the old habit carries on as usual.
Our intentions can change overnight. Our habits generally require more notice. This helps explain one of the more irritating facts about adult life: knowing better isn’t nearly as useful as it ought to be.
I understand the value of exercise, leafy vegetables and a good night’s sleep. None of this knowledge has persuaded me to go to bed before the mayor’s killer is unmasked.
Researchers have a term for this, too: “bedtime procrastination,” or delaying bedtime when no work deadline, sick child or other outside demand requires us to stay up.
Perhaps the oddest part is that I have not changed my mind since breakfast. I still want to sleep more, read more and exercise regularly. I also want to remain exactly where I am until the murderer is led away.
A good night’s sleep is an idea. But the next episode has already started.
I intend to give the matter serious thought tomorrow.
