On Decisions - A Review

I’ve never been one to split hairs, because if I had to, I’d have trouble deciding which one to break. For me, decisions are tough because once you make them they’re gone, you don’t have them anymore. And I’ve always had trouble letting go.

In an older blog, I mentioned that I’m not paralyzed by decisions, and while that’s true, I am still often indecisive.

A lot of times, I convince myself that any outcome is fine. That I am prepared for any result from a decision, and so I don’t care. Couple that with a general interest in giving those around me what they want, and I’m the worst for dinner plans.

But, for someone who doesn’t care where life takes me, I sure do care about losing the right to make a choice.

Yesterday, a lot of people were trying to decide how I should feel. How I should feel about New York, my job, my reactions, my life. And I don’t know if it was because I was already depressed, but it really just put me in a dull mood.

Since New Years, I’ve been doing my best to maintain a general, but inexplicable, air of happiness. It has been working, more or less. I remembered that I had more of a say in my emotions than I let on, and controlled how much I complained and how much I let things affect me. But. I couldn’t control that when the rest of the world decides to tell me how I ought to react.

And I know, I need thicker skin. This is something I’ve come to realize lately. I’ve practiced being vulnerable for too long, and I still am an advocate for it, but there has to be a way to be outwardly vulnerable, but inwardly protective.

I was, and am, still itching to figure out what I want to do with my life. But this morning I was scared that I didn’t have a choice. Which led to a strange panic attack on the train. I decided, at that point, that after this trimester I just needed to prove to the world that I wasn’t tied to anything. I made a plan to just pack up and move somewhere. Dump all my Target/Ikea furniture in the trash, donate my books, and end up in Seattle, Portland, or Ireland. I’d find a small job somewhere, work my way up to something bigger, and then probably just repeat the cycle.

I knew I had wanderlust, but I didn’t know I had it this bad.

It makes me worried that I’m going to up and run from whichever large problem I come to deal with next.

But that was mostly the anxiety thinking. I haven’t lost any choice just because people promised me I’d become a great teacher. I haven’t been locked in to stay just to disprove the people who were excruciatingly rude to me yesterday.

I don’t need to satisfy anything they want. I don’t need to to prove someone wrong, or right. I just need to figure out what I want and then chase it.

Thanks for reading. Have a great rest of your week.