Opportunity Cost

I made a D in economics. I couldn't help it. The professor bored me to tears and smeared his hand through his overhead graphs and this was before I learned I actually needed to study to pass college courses. But I do remember one lesson clearly. And I'm sure it was the lesson on Opportunity Cost which saved me from a flat out 'F.'

I think he caught my attention when he mentioned pizza. He explained it like this: If you are hungry and have one piece of pizza then you're happy. If you have 2 you may be happier. But if you have 3 you may wind up with a stomachache. Your happiness may go down. And if you buy the pizza instead of something else that could make you happier then this phenomenon is known as Opportunity Cost. Here is the dictionary definition but pizza makes more sense to me...

opportunity cost
noun Economics
the loss of potential gain from other alternatives when one alternative is chosen : idle cash balances represent an opportunity cost in terms of lost interest.

I feel like most of my decisions should be dictated and scrutinized in terms of Opportunity Cost. But then, because I am impulsive, I jump in and later agonize over the decisions I've made and whether my choices will make me happiest.

I think in this term mainly after making big decisions. I occasionally rue the vegetables and brown rice I order instead of Pad Thai, of course (but yes, that slimmer tummy will make me feel better in the long run!) but it's not something that rules my life.

Having just moved back to California from my hometown of Austin, however, tends to evoke these concerns. Was moving my husband and our dogs the best thing for all of us, for them?

While thinking about moving back to Los Angeles I was blinded by the opportunity to return. A second chance, if you will. We aren't losing friends. Just moving farther away.

But now we're here and I'm racked with worry over the Opportunity Cost. And it's about way more than eating too many pieces of pizza and feeling ill. It's about if I can make my family happy somewhere else.

How Sex and the City has Ruined My Life

Carrie. Samantha. Charlotte. Miranda. Best friends for life. Big-City, wonderful, career-driven women who always have time for lunch and Manalos. And love.
So yeah, maybe watching reruns on TBS now the show seems a little more unreal than it did when I was 19. But at 19, that life looks not only ideal but more than attainable. Why can't you have it all and be fabulous?

I suppose the fact that the women were in their mid-30s and single should have tipped me off that at least that part of the equation made sense. But as I grew into young adulthood watching these strong, beautiful women make bold fashion choices while prospering in their careers I began formulating my future and life goals.
Not surprisingly they had a lot in common with Carrie: I wanted a successful career (film editing) a gorgeous, successful husband, and to be able to shop whenever I wanted.

After college, with the muses of Los Angeles whispering into my ears I packed up my bags to embark on these goals.

It wasn't a complete shock to learn one must start one's career at the bottom, but it was interesting to find that it would take years before I would find myself at the top of the food-chain (I think I'm still somewhere around half-way...hopefully.)
And Manalos are expensive and uncomfortable.

Fashion takes a back-seat to paying rent and affording the much needed cocktails your girlfriends and you meet for in lieu of lunch. And, by the way, there is no friend "Samantha" after college. In real life she's embarrassing. And doesn't give you a chance to meet anyone. Not that you would anyway, the big-city men you meet are primarily narcissistic and have no manners.


I suppose I can't fully fault a television show for thinking you can have it all. And maybe I'm writing this blog too soon. Perhaps I should wait until I'm in my mid 30s and then do a re-evaluation.
I do have one part: The gorgeous husband. Give me 5 more years for the rest.



As a slight aside, I would like to mention something frightening on the horizon. I grew up emulating (some of) the women of Sex and the City, a scripted show on HBO. But around the same time as the debut of this show, reality television and celebrity blogs were cropping up and have now saturated our daily lives. The landscape has changed. And new "successful" women are prominent. Carrie wrote a fictional advice column for a New York newspaper. In real life, Elliot Spitzer's prostitute, Ashley Dupre, has her own sex advice column for the New York Post. There is a celebrity version of the show "Cheaters" in the works which would star mistresses of Tiger Wood's and Jessee James. Sure, you may argue that Carrie drinking cosmos and spending her savings on shoes wasn't the best role model, but what are we teaching the girls of this generation? Sex with powerful men will bring you fame. Awesome.