When too much choice is a bad thing
Confession: I have no idea what I’m doing next. Very, very soon (eight days to be exact), I’ll be back home. While I’m beyond excited to have some of my mom’s home cooking and catch up with girlfriends over cocktails, I’m also a bit worried. Worried that I’ll leave too soon and worried that I won’t leave soon enough, worried that maybe these past seven months have just been too good to be true and I won’t be able to sustain the lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed.
I recently read an article in Glamour UK on the curse of too much choice. And boy, could I relate. They define a choister as “a woman, who by a happy accident of geography and timing, has more options at her fingertips than any previous generation. She can work, live and marry when, where and who she wants.”
While most of the article focuses on the relationship aspect of our abundance of choice–namely, that having so many fish in the sea makes it quite difficult to settle for just one when the next one could always be better–I was overwhelmed by how it relates to my current work-life situation.
I can go anywhere and do anything. I’m “hovering somewhere between college and commitment” with nothing to hold me back other than a storage unit payment and tight-knit group of family and friends in California. I could hop back into corporate America, catch a plane to paradise or become a permanent expat.
The problem? The fact that while I love choice, I hate choosing. Every decision has an alternative, a consequent “what-if.” Wherever I go, I’m choosing not to go someplace else. My friends and boyfriends have always known me to be indecisive: it takes me ages to choose a movie and I’ll do laps around the grocery store aisles before making it to checkout. The only reason it takes me so long to get ready is I can never decide what to wear.
If I hadn’t broken up with my passport-less boyfriend and had my best friend tell she didn’t think I would ever move to France, I never would have had the motivation to book that ticket to Nice. Without a set reason to go somewhere or a serendipitous sign, I just can’t make up my mind.
My notebook is overflowing with lists and deadlines, possibilities and pipe dreams. My calendar is empty as of January 1, 2011. The time to make a choice is quickly approaching, and I’d rather stuff my face with French pastries than face the fact that this chapter is almost over.
Once I stop denying the inevitable, I’ll let you know. Until then…any suggestions?
