I continue to think about the metaphor of the fruit tree. It’s a simple image, but it grows more complex the longer I consider it. The promise remains: the best fruit is high on the branches, difficult to reach. The immediate reality also remains: other fruit is at the base, easy to take. The choice seems to be about effort. But now, I see it is also about the fear of regret.

The choice is not just whether to climb, but whether I am willing to risk the feeling of foolishness that comes with a fall.

The Logic of Psychological Safety

The argument for the easy path is, on its surface, about pragmatism. It is a simple calculation of energy spent versus reward gained. Why risk so much for something that is not guaranteed? This logic is sound, but the new thought adds a deeper, more potent reason to stay grounded: the avoidance of negative feeling.

It is one thing to weigh the effort of the climb. It is another thing entirely to weigh the potential sting of failure. A new voice in the argument says that if you try and fail, you are left with nothing but the feeling that you have done something stupid. You are left to nurse the embarrassment of having tried for something you could not reach.

This changes the equation. The low-hanging fruit now offers not just a guaranteed meal, but guaranteed protection from the humiliation of a failed attempt. It is the path of psychological safety.

The Counter-Argument and the Risk of Regret

This leads back to the initial counter-argument I heard: “You won’t be able to tell the difference between the taste of the high and low fruits, and would feel the same after eating any of them.”

This idea becomes much more powerful when combined with the fear of looking foolish. If the end result, the taste and the satisfaction, is truly the same, then any attempt to climb is an unnecessary risk. If you succeed, you have gained nothing of unique value. If you fail, you have actively lost something: your dignity. You are left with no fruit and the sharp feeling of your own stupidity for having tried. In this light, the choice to climb seems not just ambitious, but irrational.

The Subjective Nature of the Reward

So, how do I justify the climb, even to myself? The only possible answer is that the premise must be wrong. I must believe that the taste is not the same.

The value of the higher fruit cannot be measured by its physical properties alone. Its value is subjective and is created by the very act of the struggle. The experience of the climb, the overcoming of fear, the view from the top, and the personal knowledge of the effort I invested—these are all part of the reward. This is a form of satisfaction that the person on the ground cannot access and, therefore, cannot factor into their equation.

The risk of feeling stupid is real. But it is a risk taken in the pursuit of a reward that exists on a different level. It is an internal, personal sense of achievement. If I were to fail, the feeling of foolishness would be painful. However, the potential reward is a unique sense of accomplishment that, for me, can outweigh the risk of that pain.

This reframes the entire dilemma. The choice is about which potential regret is worse. Is it the sting of trying and failing? Or is it the quiet, lifelong question of what that higher fruit might have tasted like, a taste I would never know because I never dared to find out? For me, the risk of the second regret often feels greater than the first.