It all started with the microwave. To be more precise, microwave #4. When Jason and I got married nearly seventeen years ago, we’d inherited his grandmother’s microwave. This was microwave #1, and it was a beast of black plastic and chrome. Sturdy, long-lasting, and efficient, it faithfully warmed our leftovers and made them palatable once more, saving me both time and dirty dishes. I’d never met a trustier food-zapping cube. Who cares if it took up an acre of counterspace; it did its job well, and I enjoyed the convenience. But after several years of use, Jason’s grandmother’s microwave bit the dust, and we “needed” to find a replacement.
That’s when our trouble began.
Unlike our workhorse microwave of yesteryear, the newer models proved to act more like pampered Pekingese show dogs. After nary a year or two, the plastic would curl at the corners. The insides would rust. And eventually, the “convenient” square cubes would emit disturbing smells of something burning. More than once, I wondered if I were just a popcorn button away from setting the house on fire. Microwaves #2, #3, and #4 came and went in quick succession. It felt like we were buying a new microwave every other year.
Where was the integrity and craftmanship of our original microwave? Or were such things only reserved for the upper echelons of microwave engineering (and prices)?
It seemed like we’d forgotten how to function without instantaneously-heated food. So we continued buying the bulky cubes, no matter how often we needed to do so. Was it extortion? It kind of felt like it, and I HATE feeling played.
Now, to be fair, we were not purchasing top-of-the-line microwaves. And perhaps if we had stayed a family of two or three, we could have gotten along just fine with more moderate microwave use. But with a family of seven, I started noticing that what had once been convenient no longer met our needs.
In addition to constantly having to replace our appliance, heating seven individual servings of a meal did not produce satisfactory results. There were always hot spots in the food which required pausing the process so you could stir things to equalize heat distribution. And by the time you finished heating and stirring plate #7, plate #1 had grown cold. You could prevent this by placing another plate atop the first ones to insulate them, but then you only created more dirty dishes for yourself. So it would wind up taking around twenty or more minutes to microwave dinner for everyone. And somewhere along the line I realized I could do better on my stovetop.
When microwave #4 died, I refused to replace it. Much to my children’s incredulity, I ditched the hot block and started reheating meals in a big pot on the stove. Multiple slices of pizza could be easily warmed on a pizza pan in the oven while smaller servings could heat up in short order in a small saucepan. Now, I have much more counterspace and warmed food using tools I already possessed. The “convenient” microwave no longer accomplished my goal of eating a warm meal together as a family.
I could go on to tell you about how we got a rotary (yes, a LEGIT spin-the-dial rotary phone!) rather than a cell phone for our kids. (Hey, it never runs out of battery and you always know where it is; I even use it to locate my smartphone.) I could tell you of my decision not to get a robot vacuum cleaner because I happen to find it calming to sweep my cluttered floors back into order (though I’m grateful for our regular vacuum cleaner for the carpet). I could tell you about how the “tragedy” of a defunct dishwasher (another appliance we seem to regularly replace) has led to teamwork among my children producing cleaner dishes and a cleaner counter overall. I may never go back … just don’t tell my kids.
But ultimately, this is not an anti-appliance article. I am VERY grateful for electricity, blessed air conditioning with the touch of a button, instant hot water pumped throughout my home, and my washing machine which saves me hours of grubbing each week. However, I do prefer technology in which one’s values and goals align well.
Sometimes what is “convenient” doesn’t actually meet our needs. What’s advertised as “efficient” may not actually save us time or trouble.
In sociology there’s a concept called, “the irrationality of rationality.” Basically, this means that something — often a form of “helpful” technology — causes unintended problems. Sometimes this happens due to a breakdown in the system — like the dishwasher that floods the floor instead of cleaning your dishes or the microwave that threatens to burst into flames instead of heating your food safely.
But sometimes irrationality happens due to a misalignment of goals and values.
For example, my mother once told me of a medication on the market (I believe in the 90’s before medical disclaimer commercials were a thing) which promised to lower blood pressure. And it would … but often at the cost of causing life-threatening side effects. So if your goal was ONLY to lower blood pressure, the drug would do the job. But if your goal was actually living longer … you were better off saving your money.
Recently, this issue has come into play with my writing as I continue to submit to literary agents and publishing houses for my sci-fi novel, Ephemeral. Once upon a time, aspiring authors customarily submitted paper query letters and book proposals via post to potential agents. They always made sure to include a self-addressed-stamped-envelope (SASE) so the agent could snail mail a reply. But these days, however, it’s more convenient and efficient to email a novel submission … or is it?
While most agents won’t even touch a hardcopy query anymore, query emails have a way of piling up in the inbox. But I recently came across an agent who actually prefers a hardcopy submission. Why? Because while he can ignore his inbox for a while (it’s glutted anyway), he can’t ignore a manila envelope taking up space on his desk. He has to deal with that sooner than later. Therefore, he invites hardcopies.
So if my goal is to just get my submission over with, it would be far more efficient to just tap the “Send” button and be done with it. But if my goal is to get my submission considered sooner, it’s worth the inefficient trip to the post office — which I made today. (Though it was only after driving away, I realized I’d forgotten to include my SASE! That will have to make its appearance in a second mailing.)
Now I’m not saying we should all become Amish or shun new technology. But if I’m honest, I don’t often take the time to consider whether my goals align well with my values. I can say I value teaching my children life skills, but if I never take the time to train them how to do dishes or tie their shoes or learn to drive because it’s more “efficient” for me to do it, then am I really accomplishing what I want to accomplish in the long run? I can say I value rest, but if I never take a day off or constantly overbook my schedule, am I only kidding myself? I can say I value my relationship with my spouse, but if I never set aside time to talk, never prioritize date nights, or never make the effort to say, “I love you,” in a way my spouse understands … my current goals could be leading me away from my true values.
I wonder if we sometimes prioritize convenience over the things which matter most and — in the end — sacrifice costly joy on the altar of efficiency.
Of course, there are seasons in life. There are extenuating circumstances. There are upsets and disappointments. But at the end of the day, people do what they want to do. There are opportunities to be had, goals to be set, and choices to be made. How will you make yours?
So What Do You Think?
Have you ever seen the irrationality of rationality at play? Share your funny and/or unfortunate stories in the comments below. Or, if you’re feeling particularly brave, you can answer the following: how might the idea of aligned values and goals play into your health? Your relationships? Your interaction with God?
Okay. That’s enough stepping on toes for now. ;)
Values v. Goals (as applied to my kitchen appliances)
Even though I know how to use Google calendar, I still prefer my physical daytimer with a week at a glance and all my to-do lists and future plans easy to view by turning pages.