Why do big decisions have to be so huge and momentous and, well, BIG? Why does every aspect of a big decision spider-web out to touch every other aspect of your life somehow?
Here’s the thing. I’m adventurous. I like to go and do and explore. I have swung from cliffs, upside-down even, and I scuba dive regularly. I love sharks, and I’ll jump at the opportunity to zip-line. And if I’m feeling really crazy, I’ll get a double shot of espresso in my coffee. Because I am just that wild.
So I wonder why, when something really, really cool and awesome is plopped in my lap, I can’t just say, “Rock on! Let’s do this thing!” Here’s why (I think).
I think these darned kids that I love so much make me stop and think everything through more than my own internal instincts would have me do. Meaning, I really feel pretty responsible for feeding and clothing them and making them feel happy and settled and all that jazz, which, if you ask me, is a whole lot of pressure for someone who would probably jump out of an airplane tethered to a giant piece of cloth.
Anyway, so there’s a big decision to be made. I’m currently debating the benefits of the eenie-meenie-miney-moe method, but I’m starting to think that I’d be better off to go with the heads-or-tails method. If all else fails, I can always just have a jumbo margarita and then just jump! Or not. Depending on what common sense and reasoning tell me. (They don’t speak to me often, so when they do rear their ugly little heads, I’d best heed their warnings.)
I, personally, think this entire post sounds very decisive. Maybe.