Choices
Choices can be a terrible thing. I have never been good at making them; I prefer to fuss and contemplate and wonder, delaying the inevitable decision as long as possible. When presented with a new opportunity, there is the terrible siren's call of waiting, waiting and hoping that the opportunity will disappear, that I will not have to think about seizing it because it will no longer be there.
The decision I contemplate these days is one of the more important in my life. There is also something different about this one. Others I handled lightly. Choosing the best grammar school to attend would shape the rest of my life. Had I picked a different one, I would have met different people, learned different things, become a different person. I would have loved someone else during those long years, or perhaps no one at all. Meetings in far-off lands would have never come to pass, and I do not know if that would have been good or bad. But toward the end of primary school, when I made the choice, it was an easy one. I chose a grammar school that was close to where I lived, one that my friends would also attend. So easily did my life take a different path.
University was harder. I thought long and hard about it, thought about a number of different possibilities for my major. Finally I settled on one, sent in the application, and was accepted. That was not the end of doubt though. With every year, every hardship, every barrier my studies encountered, I asked myself: "Is this truly for me?" I doubt myself often. It is what I do, what I am. Still, I do believe I made the right choice. Some things were sacrificed, but I held on to others ... or at least I hope I did.
I, I, I. I have read that women use the word 'I' less often in their writings than men, and that counting its occurences is one way to guess at a writer's gender. But this journal is about me, so it is only fitting that I appear in it often.
Silliness. The occurence of the word 'I' has no bearing on the decision I have to make now. An opportunity may appear, and if it does I will need to decide how to handle it. This time no one will be able to say I did not think about it beforehand. I have spent months thinking about it even though it has not even crystallised yet, even though I have no guarantee that it will. But it is likely, and if it does come to pass it will change my life. A branching point, an intersection. Two roads, but I cannot take them both. There have been conversations with friends and acquaintances. All of them had the same goal: figure out what to do. None of them helped very much. Sometimes I lean toward one option, but it is never final, never a true decision. For the last several weeks I was certain I would not seize the opportunity, but things are changing again. Tonight I found myself spinning to the music coming from my laptop's speakers, thinking to myself "Gods help me, I'm going to do it."
It is a tough choice, and I do not know what to do. Unfortunately, no one will make the decision for me. Sometimes I wish someone would. Sometimes it would be nice if life were less complicated, easier. Ah, but there is the curse of man's intelligence: being doomed to doubt and second-guess yourself. Only fools are free of that curse, and at least in this respect I am no fool. Oh no, if wisdom were made up of nagging doubts, I would have long transcended to a higher plane of awareness. Unfortunately, I have not yet done so; I am doomed to spend weeks, perhaps months worrying about what to do.
The decision I contemplate these days is one of the more important in my life. There is also something different about this one. Others I handled lightly. Choosing the best grammar school to attend would shape the rest of my life. Had I picked a different one, I would have met different people, learned different things, become a different person. I would have loved someone else during those long years, or perhaps no one at all. Meetings in far-off lands would have never come to pass, and I do not know if that would have been good or bad. But toward the end of primary school, when I made the choice, it was an easy one. I chose a grammar school that was close to where I lived, one that my friends would also attend. So easily did my life take a different path.
University was harder. I thought long and hard about it, thought about a number of different possibilities for my major. Finally I settled on one, sent in the application, and was accepted. That was not the end of doubt though. With every year, every hardship, every barrier my studies encountered, I asked myself: "Is this truly for me?" I doubt myself often. It is what I do, what I am. Still, I do believe I made the right choice. Some things were sacrificed, but I held on to others ... or at least I hope I did.
I, I, I. I have read that women use the word 'I' less often in their writings than men, and that counting its occurences is one way to guess at a writer's gender. But this journal is about me, so it is only fitting that I appear in it often.
Silliness. The occurence of the word 'I' has no bearing on the decision I have to make now. An opportunity may appear, and if it does I will need to decide how to handle it. This time no one will be able to say I did not think about it beforehand. I have spent months thinking about it even though it has not even crystallised yet, even though I have no guarantee that it will. But it is likely, and if it does come to pass it will change my life. A branching point, an intersection. Two roads, but I cannot take them both. There have been conversations with friends and acquaintances. All of them had the same goal: figure out what to do. None of them helped very much. Sometimes I lean toward one option, but it is never final, never a true decision. For the last several weeks I was certain I would not seize the opportunity, but things are changing again. Tonight I found myself spinning to the music coming from my laptop's speakers, thinking to myself "Gods help me, I'm going to do it."
It is a tough choice, and I do not know what to do. Unfortunately, no one will make the decision for me. Sometimes I wish someone would. Sometimes it would be nice if life were less complicated, easier. Ah, but there is the curse of man's intelligence: being doomed to doubt and second-guess yourself. Only fools are free of that curse, and at least in this respect I am no fool. Oh no, if wisdom were made up of nagging doubts, I would have long transcended to a higher plane of awareness. Unfortunately, I have not yet done so; I am doomed to spend weeks, perhaps months worrying about what to do.