When you are first told about the concept of a dining hall on your college tours in high school, it sounds like a dream. With unlimited food, plentiful options and constant availability, a college meal plan seemingly promises all that you can ask for. But is there a limit to the satisfaction gained from having all these choices?
To me, Brandeis and Harper feel like a Black Friday sale circa 2012. Everyone is running to try and get the best options, waiting in long lines with other hangry students and scrambling to find a table big enough for you and your friends. Early in the semester, the excitement is palpable. Now, I just want to get in and out as fast as I can. I used to be excited by the prospect of so many options, knowing I could choose anything I wanted or have multiple plates if I couldn’t decide, but by the end of each meal I felt stuffed, overwhelmed and less satisfied than I was to begin with. It is not just me; I often watch the excitement on my friends’ faces drain away when I use a guest swipe for them as they try and decide what they want to eat, getting increasingly stressed. What started as an exciting and convenient part of my day now struggles to fulfill its potential, and I find myself heading towards the pizza station too often.
The unlimited buffet and its diminishing benefits are a concept that exemplifies the worst parts of American culture: having so much and so many options that we struggle to be grateful or appreciate it. Dining halls are just one example of this phenomenon. I have not watched anything new on Netflix in months because every time I open the app, I get overwhelmed by the countless options of what to watch and end up just watching Pitch Perfect for the 17000th time. We should be more cognizant of how many options are available to us and consider how much their limitlessness truly benefits us. Living a satisfying life sometimes means living simpler, with less options.