Gimme Now!

In the 1970s, Stanford psychologists ran an experiment testing whether delayed gratification or impulse control portended particular outcomes in children as they grow up. This study is now commonly and colloquially referred to now as the “marshmallow test,” referring to the design wherein children were given marshmallows. They were offered 1 if they wanted to eat it then, or two if they could wait 15 minutes. (Those who chose to wait were actually offered a marshmallow or a pretzel stick for their second snack, depending on their preference). The results of this study seemed to suggest that kids who delayed gratification had better self-control, could more easily resist temptations, and had better willpower. Follow-ups on these children who waited for two prizes found that they were more likely to score higher on the SATs, were more academically successful, and had overall lower body mass indices.

I’ve often heard this experiment thrown around as a way to laud the grit and sheer willpower it takes to pursue a career in medicine (or any other career requiring years of education and training). In retrospect, I think I would’ve been one of those kids who went for the first marshmallow. By a preponderance of circumstance, I ended up in a career with so many safety scaffolds in place. The system is set up, once in medical school, to be a pipeline toward a traditionally successful career—of course, barring any catastrophe. The process does not really leave you with much option along the way, as the sunk cost only continues to grow the further you get.

Peter, on the other hand, probably would have done just fine with the marshmallow study. Despite also having a grueling journey through higher education, he truly embodies the quality of delayed gratification. He is someone for whom the prediction of childhood delayed gratification played out according to the experiment. Since childhood, he has staved off immediate reward in hopes of attaining something greater in the future. Needless to say, his efforts have paid off as he is wildly successful today in his field of work.

For as minimal he is currently, he really has his eyes on the most expensive endeavor of all: financial freedom. He’s been able to grind for over a decade now since finishing pharmacy school, maintaining an extremely low cost of living. Of course, after meeting me, his living costs actually went up a little (or a lot, depending on who you ask).

Many seasoned physicians provide the same advice: live like a resident for a few years after training, save aggressively those few years, pay back loans, and get a head start to compounding. After all, what’s just a few more years on top of a decade of passed time? Try as I may, delayed gratification to the same degree as Peter’s would be impossible for me. I want my cookie, and I want it now. He’s listened to me moan and groan about this tedious journey. Knowing it could be hugely beneficial in the long run does not make it any easier in the moment.

I can spend quite a bit more money than Peter (which makes hitting newly opened credit card bonuses particularly easy for us). Shortly after finishing training, I did allow for myself to live in a more comfortable apartment, albeit quite pricier than what I was accustomed to. My rationale in all of these minor upgrades (that would quickly accumulate and snowball) would be that I’ve had to wait long enough to start living. On top of that, didn’t I deserve it, not simply due to time invested, but from hard work? That mindset can dangerously justify any purchase and one for which Peter holds great disdain. With Peter, as we’re working on mutual goals, I’ve cut back considerably quite a bit. Notably, these were adding up to be significant expenditures for minimal return in gratification.

Resisting the onslaught of lifestyle inflation is one thing but living minimally (especially to Peter’s standards) is a different ballgame altogether. Because of my tireless huffing and puffing, Peter often indulges me in splurges here and there. Ever since reading Die With Zero together, he’s been more open and sympathetic to my complaints. I’m sure he likes me enough to want me a happy camper as well. Fortunately, neither of us are big spenders to begin with, so there’s never a need to really put brakes on our spending.

Interestingly, the famous Stanford marshmallow study and its results have been re-evaluated over the years with subsequent experiments. Researchers have found various issues with the original results. Newer studies have shown that delayed gratification is no longer predictive of success when controlling for other powerful variables such as cognitive ability and socioeconomic status. That is, there are other factors that drive children (and people) to taking instant marshmallows than just simply delayed gratification.

Growing up, I would never have considered myself a kid with a particularly strong sense of willpower or knack for delayed gratification. I think it was only in young adulthood that this concept of delaying gratification in return for greater rewards dawn upon me. Unlike Peter, I think my own successes were born of a myriad of other variables, including luck and an early passion for biology (i.e., I stumbled upon a path well-suited for myself, with no way of turning back).

We often have conversations about what our futures might hold for us. Some days, I can’t even imagine what the following week would look like, much less a 5 or 10 year plan. Even as those milestones cement themselves and plans start to unfold, its an internal struggle to actually save toward them. Delaying gratification is easy only in that there are trackable, quantifiable outcomes, whether it is the dollars in our bank accounts or even our health. But the real agony in delayed gratification is with that which is not quantifiable: experiential joy and satisfaction in one’s life at the right moments in time.

Peter and I have big plans in the near-ish future which have required tremendous sacrifice and a truck ton of delayed gratification. We only hope that the gratification will be worth the delay in our momentary pleasures.