Why we do what we do (Part 3).

The egg of regret.

“Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid.” ~ William Cowper

Pleasure often gets a bad rap—even the Buddha, who abandoned his palace of pleasures, later rejected asceticism. It’s blamed for our downfalls, the indulgence that leads to regret. But Cowper’s line, poetic as it is, misses one thing: pleasure itself isn’t the fatal egg. The real culprit is our impulsive craving for it and our relationship with pleasure—especially as an escape from discomfort.

[Previous parts of this series are linked here.]

We don’t drink, smoke, overeat, binge-watch, scroll endlessly, or stay in dysfunctional relationships simply because they bring us pleasure. We do it because they offer relief—relief from boredom, from stress, from loneliness, from the gnawing weight of uncertainty. If pleasure were the real villain, we’d regret every joyful moment. But remorse isn’t born from pleasure; it hatches in the moments when we realize we’ve traded our inner impulse towards authenticity, connection and growth for the fleeting comfort of avoidance.

Cognitive dissonance thrives in this space—the gap between what we know is best for us and what we feel compelled to do. And it’s here, in this tension, that the “have to” narrative takes hold. It’s one of our most common mechanisms for reducing those compelling, negative feelings. When our actions don’t align with our desires or values, we convince ourselves we have no choice, silencing mental conflict and surrendering agency—a move our authoritative thinking mind interprets as approval. Silence becomes tacit consent, which creates an illusion of support and eliminates dissent.

The ultimate proof of how destructive the “have to” delusion can be comes from the regrets of those facing the end of their lives. In The Top Five Regrets of the Dying, Bronnie Ware, a palliative care nurse, documented the most common reflections of people in their final days. They didn’t regret failing to meet expectations or following obligations—they regretted not living in alignment with their true selves. The most common regret? “I wish I had had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”

Each of the five regrets—working too hard, not expressing feelings, losing touch with friends, and not allowing oneself to be happier—reveals the tragic cost of resolving cognitive dissonance by surrendering to the illusion of necessity. The dying don’t look back and say, “I had no choice.” They see, with painful clarity, that they always did. The problem wasn’t their circumstances—it was the stories they told themselves about them.

When we examine these regrets closely, we see how this narrative robs us of our most fundamental human power: the ability to want our own actions, even when choices are imperfect. It blinds us to alternatives that might exist outside our narrow conception of possibility. And perhaps most destructively, it absolves us of responsibility for the lives we live.

This isn’t to minimize the gravity of consequences or to suggest all choices are equally available to all people. Systemic constraints, privilege, and circumstance profoundly shape our range of viable options. But even acknowledging these constraints, “I have to” remains a narrative that diminishes our agency rather than one that accurately describes reality.

The dissonance we’re truly avoiding is the gap between the stirrings of our innermost being and the life we have. We all yearn to be fully alive—to live authentically, passionately, true to our deepest values. Yet daily, we compromise. We settle. We want security over risk, comfort over growth, convention over authenticity.

And rather than turning up the dissonance by acknowledging that we want these choices—rather than admitting that we’ve prioritized certain values over others—we pretend we had no choice at all. Like my friend with the cranberry corduroy pants, we’d rather perform elaborate deceptions than face the simple truth of our own decisions.

So what’s the alternative? It’s to embrace the tension rather than trying to eliminate it. It’s to practice holding both “I don’t feel like” and “I want” in mind simultaneously. It’s to acknowledge, “I don’t feel like going to work today, AND I want the stability and connections it provides.” Or “I don’t feel like having this difficult conversation, AND I want the relationship to deepen.” Or even “I don’t feel like caring for my aging parent today, AND I want to honor my values of compassion and family.”

Ultimately, cognitive dissonance offers a paradoxical gift. By holding opposing ideas in tension—acknowledging the space between “I don’t feel like” and “I want”—we cultivate a radical form of psychological flexibility. This is not about resolving contradictions, but about developing the courage to live within them. Here, in this uncomfortable yet generative space, we discover not just first-rate intelligence (as F. Scott Fitzgerald famously noted about holding opposing ideas simultaneously) but a more nuanced, compassionate way of being in the world.

Embrace the dissonance. Let it challenge you, unsettle you, and ultimately, transform you into a more authentic, resilient version of yourself. In the dance between certainty and doubt, between what is and what could be, lies the most profound opportunity for personal growth and true wisdom.

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Stay passionate!