Want To Make Better Choices? Try Separating The Decision From The Deadline

I learned the hard way not to make decisions too quickly

Upon the conclusion of both sides presenting their evidence, the judge sends the jury into a private room to deliberate and determine the guilt or innocence of the accused.

The jurors review the testimony, consider the facts, and discuss the circumstances. In most cases, they eventually arrive at a consensus — a decision in which all jurors agree one way or another.

They do this without any specific time constraints.

Their instructions from the judge usually imply the need to do a thorough job, with the assumption they will devote their complete and total attention to the task.

Occasionally during this time of deliberation, a juror may ask for an explanation of the law or to look at the transcript of the case to refresh their memory about the testimony of a particular witness.

Again, they do this without any specific time restraints.

Or do they?

With the assumption of their responsibilities as jurors, there is the premise they will take all the time necessary to arrive at a decision — which also includes the option of deciding that they can’t unanimously decide.

But in reality, there is a time-clock running — a hidden stop-watch that continues to accumulate the hours — making it impossible to ignore this one overwhelming fact:

Continued deliberation comes at a personal cost, measured in terms of time spent away from the job, absence from family, and disruption of the jurors’ normal lives.

These costs put tremendous pressure on all jurors.

And that’s when the stress of continuing to deliberate, coupled with the turmoil caused by the continued absence from their careers, family, and life obligations, begins to take its toll.

At that point, bringing the proceedings to a conclusion becomes a priority.

And the more time that passes, the more urgent that priority becomes.

And it makes me wonder:

At what point does the need to finish — to decide and move on — outweigh the need to make sure every facet of the case has been reviewed, every detail examined and evaluated, every alternative motive and scenario considered?

We make decisions every day.

Many of them are simple and straightforward.

Do we take Fifth Street to work or do we try Thompson Avenue? Do we have the soup and sandwich for lunch or the Ruben with fries?

In these examples, the consequences of a wrong decision aren’t that serious. Regardless of the choice we make, it’s not the end of the world — we can live with the outcome.

And then there are more important decisions, the ones that can have a lasting, if not permanent effect on our lives.

These are the choices that matter, and accordingly, you’d think deserving of more time, more consideration.

But surprisingly, our usual inclination is to get them off our plate as soon as possible.

We might even pride ourselves on how quickly we came to a final determination, celebrating our ability to evaluate the situation and make a choice in the shortest possible time.

In the mid-eighties, I received a phone solicitation from an art gallery in La Jolla, California.

They wanted to sell me an original Salvador Dali Etching. It was hand-signed by the master himself, they told me. And the image had been struck on a press in Spain, under Dali’s watchful eye.

The total number of etchings in the series was limited to 300. And only those images meeting the high-quality standards of Dali would receive the artist’s signature — a personal statement of approval that art aficionados would revere and cherish for decades to come.

The investment potential?

Off the charts.

In fact, the salesman told me it wasn’t important whether or not I liked the particular image, or even if I liked the work of Dali.

Because the etching came with a buy-back guarantee; in five years, the gallery would buy the work back, at prices estimated to be four to five times the cost of acquisition.

I told the salesman I liked the idea of investing in art, but I needed to do some research. I had no experience with the medium or with the current prices for Dali’s work.

I promised to call him in a day or two to let him know what I decided.

The salesman called again the following morning and told me there were less than twenty pieces left. And once they were gone, I would miss the opportunity to buy a part of history — the chance to purchase an investment that was so sure to increase over time that it came with a buy-back guarantee from the seller.

For the next two days, I obsessed over the decision.

I read everything I could find on Salvador Dali, about the image, and the investment potential of the artist.

At the end of the second day, I wondered how many of the “less than twenty pieces” were still available. I called the salesman to find out.

“There’s a dozen left,” he said. “But I can’t guarantee they’ll be here tomorrow.”

Are you ready to be surprised?

I bought two pieces. At $3200.00.

Each.

And no, I didn’t purchase on impulse. I did plenty of due diligence.

I checked out the gallery. They were real, and located in the very pricey, downtown area of La Jolla. I also confirmed the location of the press and the technique they used to create the etching.

During those two days of research, I felt the constant pressure of the clock.

There were only a few of the original 300 pieces remaining and, according to the salesman, the edition would soon be sold out.

My research had confirmed that Dali’s work — something he’d actually set his hands on — appeared to be a good investment, and the increasing scarcity of this particular series confirmed there were others who agreed.

In my mind, the closing window of opportunity supported the current and future value — and vice-versa.

As I hung up the phone with the gallery salesman and tucked my credit card back into my wallet, I felt a sense of relief. The pressure I was under to make a decision was gone.

And it only cost me $6400.00.

Here’s the real question:

Did the stress and pressure of a quickly expiring deadline influence me to such an extent that I was motivated to make a decision that, with more time, might have been different?

For example, if the gallery salesman had said, “I’ll hold the two pieces for you for ten days to give you plenty of time to check us out and become more familiar with art as an investment. If you decide to buy, great. Just let me know. If not, that’s fine too. I know this type of investment isn’t for everyone. So give me a call if you have questions and let me know what you decide.”

But that’s not what the salesman told me.

He said there were a dozen pieces left.

And when they were gone, they were gone for good.

Whether it was intentional (I’m sure it was) or a circumstance of Dali’s popularity, the salesman was using the Fear of Missing Out as a very effective closing strategy.

But that wasn’t the only reason I decided to buy.

I told myself I’d spent enough time, invested enough energy, and placed enough priority on the subject.

And I was ready to refocus on my work.

For the last two days, I’d put my usual responsibilities on hold, and I couldn’t afford to spend another day doing research. In other words, I had reached my limit of deliberation.

Right or wrong, I had to make a decision and move on.

“You slipped in right under the wire,” the salesman told me. “Another gallery called and said they’d take everything I had left at the end of the day.”

When the etchings arrived, I opened one of them and looked at the image.

Printed on Japon paper, it was impressive.

The colors were bold and vibrant, and instead of having that printed, overlaid look, the paint and ink seemed to be an integral part of the fibers of the paper. It was framed with expensive Koa wood and accompanied by a gold-leafed certificate of authenticity.

The image was called, “St. John the Beloved,” and based on Dali’s more popular works — the melting clocks, surrealistic landscapes, and images of other-worldly places — this one was very different.

The more I looked at it, the more I didn’t really care for it. It just didn’t strike an emotional chord with me.

But it didn’t matter.

I’d made an investment and, eventually, it would be worth five times what I paid for it. That’s what the salesman had told me, and I had to believe it, right?

Otherwise, I’d have to question my decision to purchase.

And I couldn’t do that. It was too late.

Since then, I’ve made lots of other decisions, some trivial, some important, and many with deadlines — deadlines imposed by buyers and sellers and integrated into the terms and conditions of the transaction.

And I’ve learned that better decisions come from separating the decision from the deadline.

In many situations, deadlines serve a positive function.

For example, imposing a deadline on our goals and objectives creates the motivation to prioritize our time and resources. As a result, we often increase our chances of successfully accomplishing what we set out to do.

Without the deadline, it’s easier to put it off — to wait until circumstances are more favorable, until we’re not so busy with other things.

But when a time constraint looms over a decision-making process, we have to be careful.

We have to make sure we don’t make a decision because we’re tired of being undecided, and finalizing our choice will allow us to resume our normal activities and return to more comfortable ways of spending our time.

That’s when we lose perspective.

That’s when we often choose to go with the least controversial, the most socially acceptable, or sometimes, the easiest choice — even when it might not be the most appropriate or correct option.

The next time you feel the stress of a time-bound decision, ask yourself, “What hangs in the balance? And for how long?”

As I mentioned before, some decisions are minor: What you choose for lunch. The route you take to the store. Whether you pick the chocolate icing or the vanilla.

But the decisions that count — the ones that can continue to influence our lives long after we’ve made them — need our full focus and priority.

And while we have to keep deadlines in mind, we also need to protect ourselves when we begin to feel the pressure, when there’s a tendency to short-cut the research or skip some part of our usual process in making an informed choice.

Curious to know how much I made on the two Dali etchings?

Fifteen years after their purchase, I pulled them out of storage and put them up for sale through an art dealer who, in turn, advertised them on eBay.

A couple of days later, the art dealer called and told me eBay had deleted the listings and provided a phone number if I wanted more information.

I called eBay and was referred to a self-appointed art curator who had filed a complaint claiming the etchings were forgeries. He was an arrogant, rather nasty man who accused me of trying to defraud the public.

And if he could have his way, people like me, he’d said, would never be allowed to use eBay again.

I immediately tried calling the gallery that sold them to me. They were no longer in business.

I eventually called the Dali museum in St. Petersburg, Florida. The gentleman I talked to was informative and helpful. He told me about the official catalog containing every work authorized by Dali, and also furnished me with contact information, so I could have the etchings documented.

The result?

My etchings were not in the official catalog.

More research turned up devastating news.

Years earlier, the owners and operators of the La Jolla Gallery had been indicted and convicted for selling fraudulent works of art.

My etchings had never been touched by Salvador Dali.

The pencil signature in the lower right-hand corner was a fake.

The paper had been pre-signed and shipped blank to New York, where the image had been mass stamped and additional color added by an assembly line of painters.

A month later, I sold both etchings as historical collectibles, examples of the high-end art forgeries of Salvador Dali — the most forged artist in history.

Final price? Twelve hundred dollars for both.

Remember the deadline I was under at the time I purchased them?

“Only about a dozen pieces remain,” the salesman had told me.

I’d felt rushed and pressured. I had to make a decision. I had to move on. So I chose to buy, partly because I didn’t want to miss out on what I believed to be a good investment, partly because I wanted to be done with the decision.

Looking back, my motivation at the time of purchase was now painfully clear: I spent $1200 on two etchings, plus an additional $5200 to relieve the pressure of needing to make a decision.

Yes, deadlines can focus your attention and resources, resulting in a boost to productivity. They can also distract you to the point of making mistakes, of choosing prematurely, motivated by the Fear of Missing Out.

Better decisions come from separating the decision from the deadline.

And if that can’t be done, maybe it’s a decision you don’t need to make.

© 2020 Roger Reid. All Rights Reserved.

Find more tips & strategies for personal and career success in Better Mondays

Roger A. Reid, Ph.D. is the founder|host of Success Point 360 Podcast and author of Better Mondays: The New Rules for Creating Financial Success and Personal Freedom (While Working for the Man) and A certified NLP trainer with degrees in engineering and business, Roger offers tips and strategies for achieving higher levels of career success and personal fulfillment in the real world.