Earning It

One of my city’s outdoor retailers had an event in their store last fall that was billed as a “women’s night out.” Outdoor organizations, authors, artists, and brand-name outdoor retailers were invited to set up booths in their store to showcase interesting items and information. As I was wandering through the aisle, a framed photo of a mountain lake caught my eye. As I stared at it, I realized that I had been to that lake, and had taken my own photo while standing in almost that exact spot. The photograph, of Peyto Lake, in Banff National Park, Canada, had a price tag of $300. I chuckled to myself as I continued on to the next booth. My photograph was better.

At least, I thought my photo was better. But then, I was probably being deluded by a little psychological principle, eloquently explained in a book by Robert Cialdini entitled “Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion.” Cialdini explains that the more committed we are to an idea, the more time and money we have invested in something, the more likely we are to esteem and defend that idea. Even when our ideas are proven wrong, we tend to defend them even more vigorously, because we don’t want to admit that we wasted our money and effort on a losing cause.

For example, say a religious sect predicts that the world will end on a certain day. Proponents of that religion speak openly about the end of the world, warning people in their communities to prepare themselves for the world to end. Then the target day comes and goes, and the world has, in fact, not ended. In all likelihood, the religious proponents will make excuses about why the world didn’t end, rather than admit that they were wrong. They were completely committed to their idea that the world would end, they had invested a great amount of time and effort to convince others that they were right, so their mind would not allow them to reverse their thinking.

But the example Cialdini uses that really hit home for me was that of the beautiful vista. He describes a scenic overlook that can be visited in two ways: you can drive to the top of the mountain, walk 50 yards, and arrive at the overlook; or, you can start at the trailhead at the bottom of the mountain, hike up 6 miles, gaining 2,000 feet of elevation, and arrive at the same overlook as the folks who drove up. Both groups arrive at the vista, but the hikers put far more time and effort into the endeavor than those who drove, so when asked to comment about the beauty of the overlook, in general, the response from those who hiked up will usually be far more positive than those who drove. And to me, the odd thing about this is that the hikers truly believe what they’re saying. Because of the effort it took to gain the overlook, their mind has convinced them that the overlook is stunning, even when it may only be average.

In my group of friends, this is called “earning it.” There may be an easier way to get to the beautiful places in this world, but the more effort that we put into our treks, the more satisfaction we get at the end. We may have a certain destination planned, but the journey truly determines the outcome. Here’s why.

Say you choose to do the hike rather than drive to the overlook. You start on the trail with your buddies, pointing out the patches of delicate columbine and shooting stars, catching a glimpse of the piliated woodpecker that you heard knocking on a tree trunk. You rock-hop over a cascading creek and congratulate each other on making it across with dry feet. As the route steepens you pause for a snack where everyone shares their beef jerky, m&ms, and candied pineapple chunks. You hear a distinctive cry and look up in time to see a red-tailed hawk diving towards some unseen prey. As you continue to climb, you hike past more patches of wildflowers interspersed with hardwoods and pine trees that occasionally open up to reveal glimpses of the open canyon. And finally you arrive at the overlook, completely sated by the sights and sounds and camaraderie of the trek, so the added amazement of the overlook cannot be contained by a mere “meh.” You have to gush. And of course, you snap that picture, because (you think) the overlook is truly beautiful.

And now, back to Peyto Lake, and the reason my photo is better than the $300 photo. I look at the $300 photo, and I see a well-composed, well-focused, nicely framed photo of one of Banff’s most beautiful lakes. I look at it and think, “Meh. That’s nice.” And then I look at my photo of Peyto Lake, and I see my friends, wildflowers, birds, and beautiful trees. I smell the pine. My body remembers the time and energy it took to complete the challenges of the trail.

All of this I remember…from one photo. So yes, my photo is better. Because I earned it.