I spent two and a half days at my dad’s house this week, hoping it would help me clear my head. It didn’t, really, but the scenery was nice. I’m also emotionally invested in season nine of “Grey’s Anatomy,” so I’ll need to watch that show from the beginning on Netflix. Thanks, dad.
I’ve realized I’m spending a lot of time thinking about how to do things and not why I should do things, or if I even should do things. That in itself seems pretty telling to me, although I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
That’s something I’ve always done; that “how” vs “why” thinking. I get an idea in my head and I just decide it’s going to be a reality, no matter how far-fetched it may seem. Most people would consider that a good thing, but trust me when I tell you: It’s really not.
No one can do everything. It’s just a physical impossibility. Life is a series of choices. Most people end up with a handful of choices because logic eliminates certain things for us. Someone who can’t carry a tune realizes that a career as a pop star isn’t a path they can go on (at least, not with any sort of success). Because logic tells them, “You can’t sing and you need to be able to sing to do this.”
Me, on the other hand; if I can’t carry a tune, rather than say, “I should pick something other than singing,” I think of all the ways that I could make singing work for me. Vocal lessons. Picking a genre like punk or metal where tune doesn’t matter as much as volume. There’s always a market for the foolishly bad.
Now. Imagine for a moment doing this with every single idea you ever have. Well, I can do anything!
But I can’t do everything. So, now, rather than having a handful of choices because I eliminated singing because of my awful voice, or acting because of my anxiety, or modeling because I’m just not that cute… I have buckets and buckets of choices.
And I… am notoriously bad at making decisions.
Can you see my dilemma? “Poor Decision Making Skills” + “Nearly Unlimited Choices” = “Unable/Unwilling to Choose” = “Staying in the Same Place”
And the same place isn’t always a good place.
The goal is to get to the good place.
The question then becomes, in a poetic full-circle, how do I get to the good place? Or rather, which path do I take to get to the good place?
Ironically enough, if I were capable of answering that question, I wouldn’t even need to ask it at all, because I’d have picked a path by now.
I’m not sure quite how to end this post, because while I’m not depressed about this (shockingly enough), I don’t really have a happy or optimistic way to look at it right now, either. So, I’ll leave you with this quote from “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath which sums up pretty succinctly how I feel:
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. […] I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
I love you all.