Think of a hard choice. It might be between two careers -- artist and accountant -- or places to live -- or even between two people to marry -- you could marry Betty. Or it might be a choice to have an ailing parent move in with you, to raise your child in a religion but leaves you cold. Or whether to donate. Chances are, the hard choice something momentous. Hard choices seem to be occasions for agonizing, hand-wringing. But I think we've. And the role they play in our lives. Understanding hard choices uncovers a hidden power. What makes a choice hard? In any easy choice, one alternative is better than the other. In a hard choice, one alternative is better in some ways, the other alternative. And neither is better. You agonize over whether to stay or uproot your life because staying is better in some ways, moving is better in others, and neither is better. We shouldn't think. Let's say you're deciding. You could have high fiber bran cereal or a chocolate donut. Suppose what matters in the choice. The cereal is better for you, the donut tastes way better, but neither is better, a hard choice. Realizing that small choices may make big hard choices. After all, we manage to figure out. So maybe we can figure out or uproot for the new job in the country. We also shouldn't think because we are stupid. When I graduated from college, I couldn't decide between two careers. I really loved philosophy. There are amazing things and all from the comfort of an armchair. But I came from a modest immigrant family where my idea of luxury was having a pork tongue in my school lunchbox, so the thought of spending my whole life sitting around in armchairs. Well, that struck me as the height. So I got out my yellow pad. I drew a line down the middle. And I tried my best for and against each alternative. I remember thinking to myself, if only I knew what my life. If only God or Netflix would send me a DVD. I'd be set. I'd compare them side by side. I'd see that one was better. And the choice would be easy. But I got no DVD, and because I couldn't, I did what many of us do in hard choices: I took the safest option. Fear of being an unemployed philosopher. And as I discovered, It wasn't who I was. So now I'm a philosopher, and I study hard choices, and I can tell you, while a common motivational default rests on a misconception of them. It's a mistake to think one alternative but we're too stupid to know which, and since we don't know which, we might as well take. Even taking two alternatives side by side with full information. Hard choices are hard. They're hard because there. Now, if there's no best option, if the scales don't tip in favor then surely the alternatives. So maybe the right thing is that they're. But that can't be right. If alternatives are equally good, and it seems a mistake to think, here's how you should. Places to live, people to marry: Flip a coin. There's another reason for thinking that hard choices aren't choices. Suppose you have a choice. You could be an investment banker or a graphic artist. There are a variety of things like the excitement of the work, achieving financial security, having time to raise a family, and so on. Maybe the artist's career of new forms of pictorial expression. Maybe the banking career of new forms of financial manipulation. Imagine the two jobs however you like, so that neither is better than the other. Now suppose we improve one of them, a bit. Suppose the bank, wooing you, adds 500 dollars a month to your salary. Does the extra money now make the banking job? Not necessarily. A higher salary makes the banking job. But it might not be enough to make being a banker. But if an improvement in one of the jobs then the two original jobs. If you start with two things and you improve one of them, it now must be better than the other. That's not the case. So now we've got a puzzle. We've got two jobs. Neither is better than the other. So how are we supposed to choose? Something seems to have gone wrong here. Maybe the choice itself is problematic. But that can't be right. It's not like we're trying to choose. We're weighing the merits, not the merits of the number nine. A comparison of the overall is something we can make, and one we often do make. I think the puzzle arises because of an unreflective assumption.