The University of Chicago is obsessed with cost-benefit analysis. At a school where the most popular major is economics, this comes as no shock. But the mentality that some things are worth our attention, time, or funds because they are “logical” extends far beyond economics. In my Public Policy Implementation class, our literature deemed it ethical to strike down pollution restrictions because not enough people had environmental-related asthma to justify corporate profit loss. In the Biological Nature of Psychological Problems, Dr. Ben Lahey argued that people should seek mental health help when the costs of not doing so outweighed the benefits.

Certainly, there is a time and place for pros and cons. Economic rationality reduces emissions by major corporations through pollution permits. Dr. Lahey’s proposed method decreases stigma and makes therapy more accessible. But applying a clinical cost-benefit analysis to our social, academic, and professional lives, is not only an ethical choice but one that confines our interests and our desires to merely another bullet point on a pros and cons list. We undermine our values and aspirations and risk missing the chance to do things that might make us genuinely happy.

When I first came to UChicago, I was an economics major because predictability was comforting. There was a right answer to everything if you could simply run the cost-benefit analysis. So, when I was looking into RSOs my first week at school, joining Off-Off Campus, a sketch and improv comedy group with a 15-hour weekly time commitment, seemed illogical. It did not align with my vision for my first year of rushing an economics fraternity or securing an early internship. But I ultimately decided to audition because I’d met a few postering members on the quad who immediately treated me like an old friend, a much-needed respite during the chaos of O-Week.

After auditions, a second-year member pulled us into the hallways of Cobb and asked us to sign a contract (a sheet of binder paper attached to The Wealth of Nations for structural support). By signing, we were promising to accept the position if cast. The decision loomed heavily in front of me. On one hand, there was a 15-hour commitment to something that didn’t align with my academic goals. On the other was an audition room that had overflowed with laughter and a collective joy, unlike anything I had experienced before. The pros stacked heavily against the cons, and I was left in the middle, only more confused than I’d started.

I decided to bring out the big guns: my mother, a self-proclaimed “mega me” who would certainly have the answer if I didn’t. I excused myself briefly to call her from an unfamiliar room. On the phone, she simply asked if I would be happy in Off-Off. “I’ve never laughed so much in an audition room,” I told her, to which she responded that my decision was simple. My logistical, business-minded mother—my “mega me”—had told me that my happiness mattered more than anything else in that moment. And so, in the name of prioritizing what made me happy, rather than what made “sense,” I forwent logic and my prior plans for the year and decided to join Off-Off.

Cost-benefit analysis tends to drive us away from the endless aspirations we thought possible as children and into majors, internships, and jobs we see as lucrative, high-earning, and feasible. One of the most talented sketch writers I’ve met in Off-Off spent this summer working as a research assistant while occasionally attending improv classes on the weekends. They shared that this was a glimpse into the worst version of their life. Nonetheless, they held on to the supposed stability academia provided because they could not overcome the looming job instability associated with a career in the arts. Despite their passion lying in comedy, the cons of the arts weighed heavily in one palm. And at this school, it’s difficult to even look at the other hand.

Though cost-benefit analysis is supposedly impartial, reducing human considerations such as creativity, access, and even human rights down to a dollar amount is anything but neutral. Our values are baked into our “rational” choices when we hand out drilling permits to facilitate environmental degradation, cut arts but never science programs, and choose to work in research over comedy. There are some things—the environment, our artistry, and our careers—that the rule of logic shouldn’t dictate.

Having spent a year now generating characters and stories that expire at the end of every Off-Off rehearsal, I’ve built up the muscle to weigh the pros greater than the cons. From portraying a mouse hooked on illicit drugs in front of my mother to postering with a sign reading “Like sex? Try improv!”, I’ve learned that there is nothing logical about improv, but there is undeniably something special about it. I’ve even chosen to major in creative writing, having found a love for sketch-writing in Off-Off.

I have spent years trying to make the “right” decisions in terms of colleges, majors, and careers. But in Off-Off—and in spite of an otherwise cost-benefit-saturated campus—I have learned to value what makes me genuinely happy. Not everything can or should be boiled down to a bullet point on a pros and cons list. And if you do take the chance on something that makes little sense but makes you happy, you may just find yourself with a new major, a new career path, and maybe even a few new best friends.

Camille Cypher is a second-year in the College