Editor’s Note: This following piece is a follow-up to Sandy’s review of the book “Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions”
I. Love. Dogs. In fact, I love all animals. This should be no surprise to any of you who know me even just a little or anyone in the vicinity when I receive an email with a link to a panda sneezing, when someone mentions a Super Bowl ad featuring chimpanzees, or when I’m forwarding a picture of a baby opossum sitting atop our garbage. I love all animals – just not cats.
My hatred of cats mostly stems from their seemingly intentional relentless assault on my allergies. My affinity for dogs may only be explained by the fact that I’m legally allowed to own one and they don’t seem to have it out for me as much as cats do.
My current preference for my dearly departed old dog, Zeb seems to be the direct result of my most recent experience with my current dog, Roxy – who has just attacked the new vacuum cleaner and eaten the upholstery extension.
Do I love Roxy less than I loved Zeb? Of course not. That would be absurd – like proposing you love your son, who is standing in the room with you, more than you love your daughter, who has been in the garage for the past week. I’m just trying to convey what I’ve learned by reading Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert – that our minds play tricks, and not just any tricks, but the same tricks. Meaning, collectively, we are a one-trick pony.

The explanation regarding my dogs: my distant memories of dear old Zeb are selectively inaccurate while my more recent memories of Roxy are fairly accurate.
When I think of Zeb, I think of all the ways he made me happy – like, when he’d howl at fire engine sirens as if he were communicating with the big red truck; or when we’d take him off his leash and he’d take himself for a walk, then turn around every few yards just to make sure we were still there. I fail to immediately recall how he’d devour the waxy part of air fresheners whenever he’d get the chance or how challenging it was to bathe 110 pounds of white German Shepherd. Don’t even get me started on the challenge of clipping his nails!
Today, at this moment, when I think of Roxy, I can’t help but turn my attention to the pile of mangled plastic that used to be the vacuum’s upholstery extension. But, this recent occurrence of misguided canine anger briefly masks the memories of Roxy’s keen and happiness-inducing talents of impersonating a break-dancer and a soccer goalie; her focused urge to kiss the top of my husband’s shaven head; and her ability to speak seven languages (just making sure you’re paying attention).
In other words, my mind chooses the distant fond memories of Zeb over the more recent not-so-fond foibles of Roxy. Too bad Roxy has to pay for my mind’s inability to keep the facts straight. (Sorry, Roxy.)
Hold on a minute while I go pet my dog…
…OK, I’m back.
Right now you may be thinking I’m some crazy dog lady with a singularly unique trick-playing mind. First of all “crazy” is a relative term and I resent the implication. Second, your mind has the same trick playing tendencies as mine. If you can’t take the crazy dog ladies word for it, I invite you to read Stumbling on Happiness.
Here’s how I stumbled (te he) upon this book. Fresh off of reading Predictably Irrational and recommending it to all of you, two of you recommended Stumbling on Happiness. One of you, named Dave, kindly delivered the book to my desk saying, “I read both books, but I liked Stumbling on Happiness better.” We proceeded to have a short debate about why he liked one book over the other when they were both about our faulty minds and their dirty tricks. We concluded, he read Stumbling on Happiness first, therefore liked it best.
Well, some of what we both read must have sunk in pretty well, as both books explain why Dave liked his book best and I ended up liking my book best.
Here’s what Dave and I must have learned:
1. We each tend to overvalue what we own and undervalue what others own (including similar books and the experiences reading them).
2. While a novelty may be spectacular the first time, it’ll be less so subsequent times (including similar books and the experiences reading them).
In other words, because I own Predictably Irrational and read it before the other book of a similar subject, I liked PI best. But, because Dave owns Stumbling on Happiness and read it before the other book, he liked SoH best. Our minds played the same tricks.
Dave, we’re the same, but different. See?
My advice: read either Predictably Irrational or Stumbling on Happiness, or both.
My prediction: the one you read first is the one you’ll prefer, but you’ll learn loads about your mind’s mind games and the collective un-specialness of us all either way.
Sandy Marsh
Disclaimer: The writer of the article is by no means implying she is any more knowledgeable about this stuff than you, that you are not special or that you should allow science to claim you are the helpless victim of your predictably irrational mind. She only claims to have read at least two good books.
Please continue toward your quest to prove you are the exception. Sometimes you are
Note: If you’d like to get into a discussion with me about why my old dog’s name was Zeb – short for Zebediah – you wouldn’t be the first. I’m open to discussing it, but, I assure you, the story is far less interesting and will reveal far less about me than you’d imagine.