twenty three
hi
I do not like talking about myself because, honestly, I am never sure where to start. It is as if there is one giant soup of choices and thoughts and words in me that I would rather not disturb. Yet here we are…
My mom had me at 23, an age when she probably should have been out at the club. I know I should not be the one saying this because I am 23 now and neither of us were at the club. Her having me so early might have been her biggest blunder. But, if we are comparing, it seems like my trajectory is heading towards making a lot poorer life decisions.
Speaking of decisions, if there is one movie scene I could replay over and over until it was permanently burned into my memory, it would be Amanda’s lamp scene from Thoroughbreds. Her line was nothing deep or profound yet it hit me square to the head.
You cannot hesitate.
The only thing worse than being incompetent,
or being unkind,
or being evil,
is being indecisive.
Olivia cooked with her execution on this one no pun intended.
I am very prone to indecisiveness so much so that I get completely in my head over the tiniest daily decisions. I’ve fallen into the habit of micro analyzing, an internal struggle that conditions me to run countless simulations in my mind. and thus the catastrophizing begins.
What flavor pizza we having for tonight? I’m definitely not the person to ask. I get paralyzed and cannot make a decision. Should we turn right or left? sir you are better off asking a magic eight ball.
My chronic indecision stems from anxiety and low sense of self. My real eyes realize. Regret plagues me. I don’t want a constant reminder of what could have been please, thanks!
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. 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.
Sylvia Plath momentarily crawled inside my brain when she wrote this! She knew about my struggling to pick the most obscure Japanese indie film to watch during the day and translated it into a beautiful fig tree metaphor! Amazing lady, isn’t she?
At my big age of 23, I feel it’s a bit too late to be neurotic. So until I encounter a rouge wave that will transform me into a decision person right in an instant, my temporary solution is to run free go silly, try enough—though not everything, just enough—to refine my choices. This way, when I step into a McDonald’s next time, I’ll know just exactly what I want.
xoxo