A new set of researchers tried to replicate the Stanford Marshmallow Test with a different population. The study found that preschoolers who could delay gratification by not eating the marshmallow and waiting for a second one would become more successful later in life. Instead of only looking at ninety kids who went to pre-school on the Stanford campus as the original study did, this new group looked 900 kids from a variety of backgrounds.
And the results did not hold up to the degree they did in the original study. Could there have been bias in the original study? Yes. Low income children did not want to delay gratification because they might believe the promise of a second marshmallow might be gone in fifteen minutes.
Alack and alas. While the first study wasn't fraudulent, neither was it completely true. Here it was, I was believing a lie. I wrote about the Marshmallow Test a few years ago. When I was a kid--and even and adult--I could have held out for a second marshmallow forever, so much so that it begs the question--not if I should delay gratification--but how long?
Alan Naiman from Seattle was at one end of the spectrum. This guy put me to shame. When he died last year, he left $11 million to local children's charities. No one knew he had that much money. The guy was frugal to an extreme. He would duct tape his falling-apart shoes even though he had millions.
Now that I am approaching the Queen phase of my life (post-princess and mother), I've pretty much stopped delaying gratification and saying "Fuck it" to just about everything. The condo is Exhibit A. I bought myself some bling for Christmas, a ring with three flowers made of sapphires, Exhibit B. I am sure there are Exhibits C (Prada shoes from last year), D (trip to London with Claire-Adele), E (seeing Hamilton three times) and F around somewhere as well, but I'll stop here.
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| My drawing. I didn't want a picture of my really cool ring on the internet. |
When I asked Jack if I could get it, he said, "If you want to...", showing no preference either way. My marriage has reached the phase of "Whatever." So I got it.
The ring is a little much, but lately I have been a little much, over the top, excessive. Or as the French say, de trop. I was reading an article in yesterday's New York Times about a grandmother feeling lost amid her son's new family. She feels de trop, which can also mean "in the way" or "not wanted."
Oy. How can one phrase mean such different things? I want to be the cool de trop, not the old pain-in-the-butt version.
Why am I letting loose after living such a restrained life? Why now?
Death?
I have two friends (out of hundreds) who are dying of cancer much earlier than they should be. One is my age and the other is sixty-four. I've been saving and delaying gratifcation for such a long time, what if I die in a few years and never lived? A friend was talking about his bucket list and he asked about mine.
"I've seen Hamilton in New York, Washington, D.C. and London," I said. "I have always loved living in walkable places and now I have a condo downtown."
"So you have finished your bucket list?" he said. I never really thought of it that way. I still have more I want to see and do, but I keep moving my bucket list moving along at a rapid pace.
My ninety-eight year old friend Eleanor helps tether me back to reality. "It is nice to be ninety-eight years old and not have to worry about money," she said the other day at lunch. What better time to embark on a money diet than New Years?
Maybe in 2020.
