Decisions

I rarely feel more emasculated than when I cannot make a decision. Alternately, I feel quite manly when I do make a decision. I like being decisive, but I fear making the wrong decisions, especially major ones, because I do not want to be stupid. Of course, stupidity is emasculating too; yes, others may disagree and say stupidity is quite the male trait, but I digress. I do not believe I am stupid, but I am afraid of failure, afraid of the unknown. Is failure unknown because I am successful or because I do not take enough risks where I could fail? I fear it is the latter.

I do not fear spiders. I do not fear snakes. I do not fear heights. I do not fear the dark.

I do fear having lived out my life and not having had something to die for. I fear dying without having had something to live for.

And I do fear being alone. I do fear burning my bridges.

So I try to keep all my bridges up and supported. I am so busy holding them up, I forget to cross them. And really what is a bridge for if not to cross?

What is one to do when they both love and hate making decisions?

I do what any logical person would do. I fill my days with mundane and meaningless decisions: What should I eat? Should I get up this morning? What should I wear? Should I read the news or check my messages first? Should I…? Should I…? Should I…?

So I get a cheap fix from what will never ultimately be important. Like eating toaster pastries for breakfast, grilled cheese for lunch, and ramen for dinner. It will fill you up but never truly feed you.

Decisions. I need to make some—throw them in a pot, turn the heat to high, make them boil. Let stand until ready to serve. A meal fit for a king.

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