The Greener Grass Test
At three years old, Mike May was on the wrong end of a chemical explosion that nearly killed him. It didn’t take his life, but it did take his vision.
Thanks to a wonderful mother, May had a normal childhood. He played kickball, rode his bike, did his chores, and learned to function independently without sight. By all standards, he became a successful adult. He earned a master's degree from Johns Hopkins, worked as an analyst for the CIA, won three gold medals downhill skiing in the Paralympic games, got married, and had two sons.
May’s life was happy, fulfilled, and successful.
Forty three years after his fateful accident, May had a chance encounter with an ophthalmologist. The doctor mentioned a new procedure for which May was eligible. If successful, it could restore his vision.
When I read this story in Robert Kurson’s book, Crashing Through, I was immediately excited. Of course I would want my vision restored, I thought. It seemed like an easy decision.
Then again, I’ve never been blind.
Imagine yourself in a scenario similar to May. You have all five senses. You have a good job and a happy family. Your relationships are solid, and your health is fine. You don’t want anything else.
Then one day, you’re strolling through Bed Bath & Beyond when you find a remote control with magical powers. It allows you to fast forward time - just like Adam Sandler in the movie Click. Like Sandler, you think the idea is amazing. Fast forward through all the crappy parts of life? Never sit through another work meeting? Fantastic!
For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, it doesn’t end well. Sandler basically fast forwards through his whole life, missing the good parts with the bad. What he thought was a superpower turned out to be a curse. It’s actually one of the only movies that made me cry.
You might think the analogy is far fetched, but the vision restoring procedure was nearly as rare as a time controlling remote. When May was considering the procedure, there were only a handful of others who’d had their vision restored after a lifetime of blindness. He essentially had the opportunity to gain a magical power - just as magical as the remote from Click.
After reading Mike May’s story, I opened my journal and started writing about the imperfect aspects of my life. Reflecting through this lens brought a realization: landing a new job or buying a new car might present more problems than it solves. I realized adding something superfluous to an already happy life is selfish. You shouldn’t risk what you have and need for things you don’t have and don’t need.
My journaling reminded me of the old adage about the grass not being greener. The more I thought on this, the more I realized the idea applies to nearly every decision you make. The annoying details of your life make other options look better, but this is a dangerous illusion.
The grass usually isn’t greener, it’s just a different shade of green. You grow used to the color of your lawn which, when you bought your home, made your eyes light up. For years you loved the way the dew glistened off the blades of grass in the morning. Then a new neighbor moved in and had sod installed. In the time it took to unroll the beautiful Bermuda grass onto his lawn, the glimmering green of yours began to fade.
I’ve had this same experience with jobs more times than I can count. Fed up with an old position, I’ll go hunting. I apply and interview and worship the new role in my head only to be disappointed when I lose to another candidate or the salary isn’t what I’d hoped.
What’s difficult to remember in the moment - but is consistently true - is the new role I’m aching for will have as many annoyances as the one I’m looking to leave. The only difference is I haven’t uncovered them yet. There will be difficult coworkers and annoying bosses. There will be tedious tasks I grow to dread and office politics that boil my blood. It’s the same as the man staring at his neighbor’s yard while cursing his own.
Does this mean there’s no better job out there for me?
Of course not.
Does it mean I should temper my expectations and do all my research before I make a move?
Sure does.
The best lesson I took away from Mike May is to use what I call the “greener grass test” for any important decisions.
You can apply it to relationships, jobs, cities, possessions, diets, colleges - basically anything. If you want to trade one thing in your life for another, first ask yourself these questions:
What are your current dislikes?
Is the new thing likely to have the same issues after the shine wears off?
Is the new thing likely to have different, but equally annoying, issues? Trading one set of problems for another isn’t helpful.
Talk to other people who have the thing you want. What do they dislike about it?
Does the new thing solve your main dislike? Or does it have benefits that make your dislikes more tolerable (much higher salary)? If so, maybe the grass is greener.
Don’t answer these questions alone. Ask your friends. Ask your family. Ask your co-workers. The more minds sharing objective perspectives, the less likely you are to trade your beautiful lawn for someone else’s dead, dingy swamp.
I’m not saying the grass will never be greener. The greener grass test is a sobering reminder, not a hard and fast rule. It’s a reminder that sometimes you can’t see the weeds until you get up close. With a keen eye, you’ll often find the grass you thought to be greener was actually just a different shade. Or the sun was shining on it just right. Or what you saw as grass was merely astroturf.
If you make your decisions through thoughtful analysis - not impulsive desire - you’ll move only when the grass is greener and appreciate what you have when it’s not.
Let’s jump back to Mike May. After running his own “greener grass” tests, doing his research, and deliberating for months, he decided to undergo the procedure.
May spent his whole life taking chances and exploring his interests, regardless of the risks. He opted for the surgery because it was true to his adventurous nature. He wasn’t looking to improve his life but to experience it differently. He wasn’t stretching to fix something but to expand what he already had.
The surgery was a success. After 43 years of blindness, May was able to see. He saw colors, mountains, animals, parade floats, and of course his family. The outcome wasn’t all positive. Learning to see was more than just opening his eyes. It was a struggle every day because the ability to see wasn’t accompanied with the ability to understand what he saw. May couldn’t perceive depth. Stairs looked like lines. He couldn’t perceive faces. Every one looked the same.
May gained his sight, but he also gained a daily mental struggle of processing everything he saw. Vision enriched his life, but it was a challenge as much as a blessing.
I don’t think Mike May found the grass to be greener, but greener grass isn’t what he was seeking. He wanted a new adventure, which is exactly what he got. His ending was happy because he didn’t stake his happiness on change. He weighed his options, and they passed the greener grass test.
