First it Was White, Then it Was Yellow, Then it Was Mauve . . .

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.  

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

Merryland Girl

Froggie

Moma Rock 

This week’s topic comes from Froggie, who simply said:  Indecision.

Perfect timing, Froggie:  I’m suffering from this malady as I write . . .

                  When I was younger, I absolutely adored the band Rush.  I loved their sound but, more than that, I loved their lyrics.  I saw each song as a little poem set to music; once, I spoke the lyrics to The Trees during eighth grade English class when we were assigned to recite a poem aloud.  (Straight-laced Mrs. Dieden was none the wiser).  The band’s lyrics, largely penned by percussionist Neil Peart, spoke to my adolescent sensibilities.  I found his words deep and sophisticated, beautiful and often philosophical – and they sounded pretty good coming out of Geddy Lee.

                  But one line from their song Free Will has always kind of freaked me out:  “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.”  Think about that.  Say it again (or, for fun, sing it in a screechy Geddy Lee voice).  It’s profound, really.  By opting not to do anything, you’ve done something.  Even by keeping the status quo, you are acting. 

                  It’s kind of terrifying, really.

                  The song debates free will versus determinism, pretty heavy stuff and a subject we often discussed in our Catholic school religion classes.  Of course, Geddy chooses free will.  But, as the song explains, implicit in free will is the belief that individual choices matter.  There is no, “Everything happens for a reason.”  Things happen only because we choose to make them happen – or choose not to.  There’s no higher power, there’s no planned path.  We control the outcome, all but what we leave to chance.  That’s a lot of responsibility.  That’s a lot of unknown.

                  And even more frightening, there’s no escape from making decisions.  We can’t not decide because, if we do, we still have made a choice.  That’s a lot of pressure.  And, often, that very pressure leaves me spinning in a swirling cloud of indecision because, even though I know I have to decide, I’m not comfortable doing so.

                  Thanks to Professor Saul Levmore’s Torts class, I know that life is one big cost/benefit analysis, and people make choices based on getting the best outcome, whatever that might look like.  This requires assigning values to different elements, weighing options, and choosing what one believes to be best for one’s self.  It takes time and thought and, sometimes, even research.  Most importantly, it takes trust.  Indecision grows out of distrust of one’s self and one’s ability to choose wisely.  It’s your inner voice screaming, “I don’t know the right answer and I can’t figure it out!” before throwing up one’s hands and shutting down the whole process.

                  I personally don’t trust my gut, so even the most mundane decision can cause stress.  Major decisions can cripple me.  I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, but hell if law school didn’t make it worse.  Lawyers are trained to see issues from all sides, and a good attorney is a global thinker.  I can come at a problem from every possible angle.  I’m the Queen of the What If.  It’s effective in law, but in life, it’s just exhausting.  I imagine and consider scenarios that would not ever cross most people’s minds.  Well prepared?  Perhaps.  Drained?  For sure.

                  I get a visceral reaction when I can’t decide.  My heart races and I actually feel nervous.  Sometimes, if the choice is large and serious enough, I undecide (indecide?) myself into a headache.  Heck, even with a small choice, I can become so overwhelmed that I have to walk away and choose later (this has actually occurred more than once in the cereal aisle).  Don’t even think of asking my husband how many times we re-painted the living room in our old house because I couldn’t decide on a paint color I liked.  (Five.  Don’t judge me.)

                  To help, I’ve come up with a few “strategies.”  An oldie but a goodie is something I like to call the Regret Game.  I ask myself, what will I regret more, doing X or not doing X?  That works pretty well when I have to choose between action and inaction.  But for really big, complicated decisions, ones I don’t really want to have to make in the first place, the Regret Game usually doesn’t help, so I instead play the Grieving Game.  There, I mentally move through Elizabeth Kubler Ross’s stages of grief.  An example:  a few years ago, we had to decide whether to leave the house I loved and had lived in for a decade or stay and continue to deal with an unstable neighbor and an overcrowded, unimpressive local school.  First, I faced denial.  Move?  No, we don’t need to move.  Our neighbor isn’t that crazy.  The school isn’t that bad.  Next came anger.  Why do we have to move?  Why can’t he go?  Where does my tax dollar go?  This isn’t fair!  Third, bargaining.  Maybe we can build a fence.  Or a moat.  And enroll the kids in private school.  Fourth, depression.  I don’t want to leave my home.  I brought two of my three daughters home from the hospital to this house.  It’s my forever house.  Finally, I arrived at acceptance.  I can’t change my neighbor.  I can’t fix the school.  I guess I’ll start packing.  Once I reach acceptance, I’m good to go and I generally don’t reconsider the issue.

                  Currently, I am facing some big life decisions.  They run the gamut of the most basic whos, whats, whens, wheres, whys, and hows of life.  I won’t get into them, but soon I’ll have to make several different (big) choices in several different (big) areas of life.

                  Needless to say, I’m a nervous wreck

                  But, ironically, I know I have no choice but to make these decisions.  I also know that if I don’t, I’ve already made a choice.  Because, like Geddy, I choose free will and all of its accompanying responsibilities. . . even if it terrifies me and even if it means painting the living room again.