In my creative writing class, the number one critique I have for every single story is "Make a decision." About perspective, about punctuation, about tense, it's all about making the decision and going with it, regardless of the consequences. Sure your story might still suck, but at least you had the back bone to defend it until the last period.
Well, ever the metaphorical conversationalist, I decided to bring this up when having an intense heart-to-heart with my roommate this evening. She's been, well, she's deep in a situation and can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, so instead she stands still, awaiting for the switch to be flipped for her. You can understand how this could frustrate her loved ones, especially one who is as assertive as myself. The conversation ended pleasantly, but I like to think she couldn't ignore the steel behind my sweet-lined analogies.
More often than not, it's the thing we don't want to hear: You have to make a choice, you can't just stand there waiting for the sky to fall. You can move forward, you can move back, just as long as you do something. Perhaps this is my naivete speaking, but when faced with a school year that is wholeheartedly devoted to some of the most important decisions I've made thus far, it can seem so much bigger than that. It's our lives. If we can't make up our minds, how can we expect anyone else to do it?
Nobody likes making decisions. It's so very easy to choose wrong, even in the odds are ever in your favor. Between yes or no, the gray area is boundless. But this is the life we have. We chose freedom, we chose free will. That should have been the red flag that decision-making would always be a burden over a glory.
I sit here, ignoring my Spanish notes, facing my life and wanting nothing more than to bury my head in the sand, pull the covers over my head. It's sounds more perfect than you could imagine. How could I ever choose between careers or paths when crawling back to my comfy college classes is so much more choice? However, I fancy myself a realist and I know without a shadow of a doubt that when May comes, I will have done the unthinkable and made my decision. Because I can't not. I'm too stubborn to fall to ground in defeat and have spent way too much time poring over flashcards and obscure theorists to not have the life I want.
So my friends flounder in their loves lives, their school lives, even their social lives and put off decisions with GRE tests and law school applications. Perhaps the act of not choosing is nothing more than the greatest decision of all, but the bottom line I constantly draw is that the decision will get made regardless of my actions; I would just rather have a say in what happens to me than not. That, above all else, is what makes me memorize the pasado subjuntivo and move on with my life.
