Sooooo…I am the worst decision maker. Like ever.
And if you really want to mess with my Everythingtarian head, give me options. Lots of options. Because there is nothing I am more horrible with than options.
I’d like to think that my struggle with options began when I was a young child, but I’d totally be lying to you. In my naive youth, I liked handstand contests…watching WWF wrestling (it was a middle school phase)…reading Babysitters’ Club books…playing video games (remember how I didn’t have friends until high school?)…beef stroganoff…and figure skating. Nothing else really mattered. The thought of watching Dawson’s Creek didn’t appeal to me. The Boxcar Children were never my thang. Beef stroganoff was my favorite meal, so why would I want anything else? And yes, at one time I had myself convinced I was going to be the next Michelle Kwan.
Then, I went away to college.
Wait a second…I have hundreds of majors to choose from?
And hundreds of extracurriculars to join?
A plethora of so-so cafeteria food to choose from three times a day for an entire year?
And I have to find a way to fill all 12+ hours of my college days?
At first, I loved having so many things to choose from. Acting class or geology class? Acting, hands down. Intramurals or international student volunteers? ISV 4 life, yo. The gym or a Laguna Beach marathon on MTV? Pass the remote control with a side of Talan Torreiro, thankyouverymuch. In short, I was happily content with this new form of independence.
But over time, I became slowly paralyzed by the mounting number of options. There were so many decisions to make about important and not-so-important things. By being forced to pick just one, I felt as though somehow I was limiting myself and missing out on something perfect for me.
The question that was always on my mind remained: What if I pick the wrong thing?
What if I was supposed to be an International Studies major not a Journalism major?
What if my destiny IS to be on Broadway but I squandered my best years studying things I don’t even remember in college?
What if I should have taught in China or Eastern Europe instead of teaching in Thailand?
What if I shouldn’t have dumped that one guy for being the world’s worst kisser and kept his good guy self around (and obviously taught him not to slobber all over my face)?
What if…what if…what if…what if.
Lately, I’ve begun thinking about my next step in life, which has resulted in me (1) teaching English in Spain, (2) joining FoodCorps and spreading my knowledge about the importance of eating vegetables, (3) traveling the world for a year, (4) working for a NGO in a developing African country, (5) becoming a full-time writer and (6) moving to London, seducing a cute rugby player and living happily ever after making little babies with adorable British accents.
The what ifs do not and will not ever end.
In a world of endless possibilities, I am instead going to put all my faith in the tiny little Jiminy ‘Everythingtarian’ Cricket voice implanted in the back of my curly-haired head that knows exactly where I should go next and learn to trust my instinctual gut feelings.
Because if you listen really closely to yourself, you usually don’t have to choose just one option.
Sometimes, you can have it all.