Picture this: It's 1955. Robert wakes up in his suburban home. He has two suits for work—navy and gray. His wife makes eggs and bacon for breakfast, same as every morning. He drinks his coffee black from the same mug. He drives his one car to his one job, taking the only route available. After work, he comes home to one of seven meals his family rotates through weekly. In the evening, the family gathers around their single television to watch one of three channels.
Robert made perhaps thirty significant decisions in an entire day.
Now, fast-forward to today. Before her feet hit the floor, Jennifer has already rejected five alarm sounds, snoozed twice, and checked three social media apps. Her closet holds forty-seven tops, and her streaming queue contains 236 unwatched shows. Her phone buzzes with notifications from eighteen apps, each demanding decisions. Her coffee order alone requires seven choices: size, milk type, temperature, caffeine content, flavor, sweetener, and whether to add an extra shot.
Jennifer faces over 35,000 decisions daily. That's not a typo. Thirty-five thousand.