Coolidge Effect

A story, whether or not it happened to a president: a couple visits a farm and is shown a rooster who mates tirelessly, a new hen each time. The wife says, "Tell that to my husband." The husband asks, "Same hen every time?" "No," says the farmer. "Tell that to my wife."

Beneath the joke is a finding repeated across species: desire fades with the familiar and revives with the novel. The appetite was never exhausted; the stimulus was.

The honest use of this is not cynical. It tells you that novelty is a spice the mind craves and a trap it falls into — the new phone, the new beginning, the new person, each thrilling briefly and becoming the old one.

So two disciplines. In love and work: manufacture small novelty inside the commitment — the long marriage survives on new dishes, not new partners. And in consumption: recognize the itch for what it is. The next new thing will also become Tuesday.