I recently realized I have an, I think, odd relationship with choice. I don’t like making choices. I like having them available to me, but I don’t like the actual choosing. It’s hard for me. I don’t know if it’s an executive dysfunction thing or just a personal quirk. But even from a young age that self start aspect of making a choice felt absent a lot.

That being said, once I’ve made a choice, taken a stance, stated an opinion, I’m stuck there. It’s a hill I’ll die on, a ship I’ll go down with. Because I made the effort to make the choice, it’s mine now.

This has led to some interesting interactions, especially in my college years. My peers in college often saw me as so determined and sure of myself. My professors routinely said I was too emotional or simply didn’t take me seriously because they thought I approached things with too much feeling. Somewhere between the two is the truth. It did take me too long to reach a conclusion a lot of the time. But once I did I was there, and that probably looked a little too much like authentic surety.

This has shown out a lot since I’ve become a “real” adult. I’m expected to make choices all the time. Refresher, I don’t like doing that. But when I make a choice, I’ve made it. Wrong or right, my choices are mine. Spoiler alert, I’ve screwed up a lot.

I’ve often been bailed out of the consequences of my poor adult choice making. Thankfully, I must add. The honest-to-goodness adults in my life are all lovely individuals. But more often than not the way I show my gratitude is to act like my life choices are being attacked. They aren’t. I feel as if I’m being judged. Probably am, definitely deserve it.

I don’t like making choices. I’m really bad at making choices. Neither of those are reasons for being a brat when I inevitably choose poorly. But I digress. Whole blog posts could and probably should be devoted to me thanking anyone who routinely puts up with my executively dysfunctional behind. But that’s not what this post is about. This one was about my relationship with choice. Maybe my next one will be about the effects of executive dysfunction on my writing process. Choices, choices.


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