Amygdala speaks: On relative deprivation and small ponds

In his famous and disruptive work David and Goliath, Malcolm Gladwell attempts to upturn several notions on disadvantages. One of the interesting ideas he introduces the reader to is the difference between being 'a big fish in a small pond' and being 'a small fish in a big pond'. He argues that for most people, the former may be a more fulfilling choice. He provides an example of a student choosing grad schools to further this theory. He makes the point that this student who might be well above average might end up in the bottom of her class if she chooses one of the world's best schools, and that this might be severely demotivating and hamper her long term prospects. In contrast, if she chooses a not-so-famous college, she might end up in the top of her class, and that might bolster her confidence and enable her to succeed long term. Therefore, he argues that there is little meaning in choosing something because of the prestige/name.

In this article, I attempt to explore what both of these alternatives entail, primarily drawing upon my own experiences, in the hope that it will enable my readers to appreciate and understand both better and make an informed choice for themselves.

First, let us look at the key idea behind Gladwell's work. He draws upon a theory called Relative Deprivation. Simply put, it refers to the discontent an individual may experience when comparing oneself to their larger peer group. This could be in terms of economic resources, accomplishment or social standing. The key idea is that humans are hardwired to use a relative measure for this comparison than an absolute one. In other words, your earnings may be in the top one percent of the country, but if all of your peers on your team make more than you do, you are quite likely to feel unhappy.

Now, coming to my own experiences. I started out studying in a small pond, and just like Gladwell guessed, I did quite well and was a big fish there. I found the environment quite nurturing and positive, and it helped me establish a sense of identity. It helped me feel successful and smart. I was happy. Honestly, it was effortless. I coasted along without really putting in effort, and succeeded nevertheless. Initially, I mistook this to be a sign of my intelligence. Eventually, I realized that I was limited by my pond. The blissful silence started to feel like stagnation, and effortlessness like complacence. I came to the conclusion that I didn't want a small pond anymore.

So I traded away my small pond for a bigger one, and just like Gladwell predicted, I went from a big fish to a small fish. The process was extremely excruciating, and I found my sense of identity shattered. I struggled to reconcile my past successes with my present struggles, and ended up feeling like an impostor. Relative deprivation also kicked in, and I made several unfavorable comparisons, each leaving me feeling more inadequate and useless. I longed for the small pond several times, and sorely missed the sense of assurance it gave me. I also thought of quitting, not unlike the student in Gladwell's example. 

At the risk of sounding cliched, I say the following. The difference was this- I didn't quit, I struggled. Every night, after poring over something I couldn't figure out, I would go to bed feeling like this was my insurmountable mountain. But when I woke up the next morning, I would promptly go back to solving the same annoying problem, forgetting all the despair of the previous day and starting afresh. It would take me hours, days or even weeks for me to conquer that seemingly unclimbable peak. But from the top, it always looked like a molehill, and I would very soon be headed for my next mountain. The more this process of being broken and being re-built happened, the more resilient I became.  

After a while, when it was time to move on, I chose an even bigger pond. And I've never looked back. I've learned to appreciate how a big pond pushes you to the very edge of your abilities, and then you discover that you were indeed capable of more. I've loved how much I've learnt in such environments. I will not lie to you though. It was never easy (still isn't), and it has left me with significant scars. There have been many bleak periods, and they have taken their toll in different ways.

At this point, it might sound like I'm advocating for everyone to jump into the biggest ponds in the world. But the point I want to make is a little more nuanced than that. I think one must look at these ponds with a fresh perspective- not where they stand in the general population's views, but what they represent to you as an individual. There are two extremes here, and a continuum between them: One end is places where you have nothing to learn, and you succeed without effort. The other end are places where you are extremely challenged without being able to succeed. The first kind is bad for your growth, and the second for your confidence and happiness. The ideal middle ground is a place that challenges you while also allowing you to succeed. This ideal place of yours might be perceived favorably or unfavorably by the larger population. But that in itself should not matter. If you find a place that can nurture you and also encourage you to grow, then there's nothing like it. 

Going back to my own example, I could argue that the places I chose were optimal for me, but not necessarily world class. I survived there, thrived even, because I chose environments where I could grow to succeed. If I didn't have those small wins, perhaps I wouldn't have found the strength to carry on. And in Gladwell's example, the student should have picked what was best for her, and that may or may not have been the same as the world's top schools. The problem here arises from going by statements centered around averages, and forgetting to account for one's individuality. My suggestion is to forget global statistics while making such decisions, and to think only in terms of what's best for you.