Some decisions are rather easy. They’re clear. Just say no.
(Your conscious says, for the love of all things divine: no.)
But most decisions are harder: choices for for grad school, brand of chocolate bar to appraise today, publically mocking friend who has chosen to wear leggings as pants…
Not every decision is a critical moral decision (ex: should I have the second cupcake?).
No, most decisions are between good, better, best (THREE CUPCAKES. And a side of cookie).
Like…the choice between moving to a foreign country or sticking to the status quo.
Decisions, we make ’em everyday.
Now some people possess this natural, authoritative sense of conviction. They know what they want, they go out, and get it — they don’t stop until they do. For them, no second opinion is necessary. Don’t need no doctas! For they are 100% positive that they are correct; they are ruthless and certain (kind of like fights with my little brother over the fact that Camilla Belle’s character in “10,000 BC” MOST CERTAINLY should have died). I have none of this. I make pro & con lists into oblivion. I NEED YOUR OPINION. Third parties are WELCOME to help me invest in 3-subject notebooks (I kid you not, this was several hours of my first week of last Fall semester). And that’s kind of ridiculous. Any other sane person would deem office supply particulars a personal matter. I’m not saying it’s sane, though, I just live it.
I am in awe, sometimes shock, at the impulsive behavior of people who know can order at restaurants in under 30 minutes, people who can get out of Target in under an hour, and people who choose to care about professional football. Really.
But the beauty in traveling is sometimes being able to be just that…impulsively convicted.
Although…sometimes in the course of an adventure…it starts raining. While I’m wearing Toms. The Toms I scored from Goodwill four years ago. The shoes that are now so worn that each rip in the canvas adds to the choir of ripped fabric voices and they’ve started singing “Ride of the Valkyries” around the pinky toe. The Toms that are made of the kind of canvas that soak up and sustain perspiration like Pampers premium. You get point. Feet wet (Again.).
And then Turkish women yell at me for not wearing a wool parka. And then the bus driver who had nodded his head, “yes this bus DOES take you where you need to go” (it dıd NOT) yells at me. And then I can’t find a post office. And then I go to the tourism information box where NO ONE speaks English — who are they supposed to be INFORMING if not ethnocentric American English speakers, WHO!?. And then my favorite bakery DIDN’T bake cupcakes that day. And then I’ve had it. I’m muttering to myself like a disgruntled-with-the-failing-generation old man because on top of this tidal wave of POO there is a little surfing man who tells you that me that I somehow lost 20 lira today — “I thought we fought a war to end this crap!!” Someone get me my slippers, shadow box, and a cup of hot cocoa.
Sometimes, after you’ve made kind of a critical life decision, there are days like this. It almost makes you regret making certain decisions. You go, “why did I come here? Why did I come here? Did I make the right choice? Why?”
But then you see it. You see it through the foggy mist:
You go inside, the staff is friendly, they hand you a menu, and within minutes your mind is clear again.
You don’t hesitate to order and you’re promptly faced with another moral decision of whether or not to eat the whole basket of bread in front of you (irrevocably yes).
You had a moment of weakness. You lost a little faith in yourself. But then you went on. When you pressed forward you were rewarded by that hot plate of impure thoughts in noodle form. You sink in, and you say: huh, I did alright in my decisions.
Always have faith in yourself. You are the best.