Diary: A Slow Read of Thinking, Fast and Slow
Cloudy
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June 28, 2025
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Lately, I’ve been curled up in my A City apartment, reading Thinking, Fast and Slow, the Nobel Prize-winning book that dives into how our brains make decisions with two modes: System 1 and System 2. As I turned the pages, I found myself reflecting on my life here in A City—how many of my seemingly rational choices are truly rational?
System 1 and System 2: The Brain’s Dual Rhythm
System 1 is like an autopilot, swift and instinctive, barely breaking a sweat. Walking down A City’s streets, I instantly recognize the familiar coffee shop sign or pinpoint the direction of a distant firetruck’s siren. That’s System 1—effortless, like breathing.
System 2, on the other hand, is a slow, deliberate thinker, demanding focus. Writing this diary, recalling the book’s ideas, and organizing my thoughts to explain complex concepts—that’s System 2 at work. The book suggests a challenge: tap a steady one-second beat, then take a four-digit number and add 1 to each digit, like turning 5294 into 6305. I tried it, and by the fourth digit, my brain felt stuffed with cotton. It hit me: when System 2 goes full throttle, it’s exhausting.
Strolling through A City’s campus, I wonder: how much of my decisions—coming to the U.S. for my PhD, choosing this program, even my daily routine—are driven by System 1’s gut instincts? And how much by System 2’s careful reasoning?
Prospect Theory: The Emotional Tug-of-War of Gains and Losses
The book’s prospect theory made me think about my shopping habits in A City. It says our sense of value isn’t linear—losing $100 stings way more than gaining $100 feels good. This is “loss aversion.” At the supermarket, when I see coffee beans drop from $20 to $15, I feel like I’ve scored a win. But if I buy them and later see the price jump to $25, I feel like I’ve lost big, even though the difference is similar. This mindset makes me extra cautious with money, especially with A City’s sky-high prices.
The book also mentions Professor R, who wouldn’t sell his prized wine for $100 but wouldn’t pay more than $35 to buy a bottle. This “reference point effect” reminds me of my attachment to things in my apartment. I can’t bear to toss an old kettle because it’s mine, tied to some emotional sense of ownership. But if I had to buy the same one for $20, I’d scoff at the price. It’s not logic—it’s psychology.
Probability Weighting: Amplifying the Unlikely
The book describes how people in Israel feared bus bombings despite their rarity, a phenomenon called “probability weighting.” It reminds me of A City’s political buzz. Campaign flyers litter the streets, and my mailbox overflows with political mail, making it feel like something big is always brewing. System 1 amplifies these signals, and I sometimes catch myself worrying, “What if something happens?” even though System 2 knows A City is calm.
This also brings to mind social media debates. People latch onto sensational, low-probability events—like some local social issue—and blow them out of proportion, arguing fiercely. System 1’s emotions take the wheel, while System 2’s rational analysis sits quietly in the back.
The Art of Rational Evaluation: Lessons from Interviews
The book recounts how the author redesigned an interview system for the Israeli army, using standardized questions to assess recruits’ traits and avoid bias. This struck a chord with my teaching in A City. Early on, I’d be swayed by first impressions—a chatty student might get a higher grade than they deserved. Now, I use clear criteria: assignment completion, logical clarity, originality. Scoring each separately makes grading fairer and helps me see students’ progress more clearly.
When grading essays on American Fiction, I noticed students fixated on obvious themes like “racial stereotypes,” missing deeper cultural or historical nuances. This echoes the book’s point: System 1 loves shortcuts, but System 2 digs for details. Maybe I could craft guiding questions to help students analyze more systematically, like the book’s suggestion: pick six key metrics and evaluate them one by one.
Sunk Costs and Life Choices
The book’s “sunk cost fallacy” hit home when I thought about returning to China. If I’ve invested time and emotion planning a trip home, the prospect of family arguments makes me feel those costs are “sunk”—not worth pouring more energy into. The rational choice is staying in A City, savoring its academic life, rather than diving into potential chaos back home.
This also makes me reflect on my PhD. Sticking with it, pouring in time and effort—am I falling into a sunk cost trap? But every time I discuss research with Professor E or read a book that sparks new ideas, I feel it’s worth it. System 2 says academic rewards are long-term; System 1 craves instant gratification.
A Few Reflections
Thinking, Fast and Slow is like a mirror, revealing the psychology behind my daily choices. Its dense terminology made it a tough read, but each experiment felt like dissecting my own mind. In A City, I’m learning to use System 2 to scrutinize my decisions—from buying coffee to writing papers, from navigating roommate dynamics to grappling with my mother’s complex emotions.
The book shows that rationality isn’t innate; it’s a skill to hone. A City’s autumn feels calm, with leaves carpeting the ground, but up close, each leaf has its own pattern. Rationality is like that—simple on the surface, yet woven with intricate psychological threads.
Today, walking through campus with Tay Zhao Mei’s The End of the Water in my earbuds, its clean melody oddly suits A City’s streets. System 1 and System 2 feel like the song’s rhythm and lyrics—one flows intuitively, the other reflects deeply. Together, they shape my life in A City.