The Choices We Make

I can still hear my mother’s voice saying softly, “Make good decisions” echoing through my thoughts now and again. It’s one of her favorite lines, and it was the last thing I heard stepping out the door to go out with friends in the evenings growing up. Most of us brushed this type of advice aside as we went to go do incredibly stupid things with friends, but this saying always carried with me. Though never said in so many words, my mother was the champion of the idea that the decisions we make every day define us as a person, and always helped my sister and I to make the small decisions as children that would instill the value of making the right choices to back the more important ones as we get older. I believe that my good decisions have outweighed my poor, but that doesn’t mean I am infallible.

 

Sometimes, a bad decision can be the right decision.

 

For a while now, I’ve been mentally checked out of certain aspects of my life. That because where I am is not where I want to be, that there’s no point in making an effort to become involved in this world that I just sort of put my life on *Pause*. It’s hard to get hurt if you connect to very few people, places, and things. The good decision would be to avoid anything that might set roots down if you’re just going to be pulling them up in a year anyway, right?

 

Recently, I’ve started becoming more sociable, outgoing, and relaxed. It’s either the nice weather or the apathy of things that used to eat me up and keep me awake all night and either way I’ll take it. All in all, life has been incredibly more fun over the last few weeks. It made me reflect back on what I had been doing over the last months that had been different from what I was doing now, and realized that I wasn’t making good decisions I plainly was just not making any decisions at all. I had completely removed myself from making any sort of decision not involving school to ease my personal life of not having any negativity to the point it had become completely tedious.

 

So I made a bad decision. It was an awful, terrible idea from the start, and my best friend here even advised me against it, repeatedly, but I made it anyway. It wasn’t that there wasn’t a purpose of hope for it to work out, but every card was stacked against me and turned out exactly as you would expect. It was like standing outside a barn drenched in kerosene with a lit match, knowing what would happen if you set it ablaze but infinitely curious to see how it would happen. So many times I’ve put that match out and made the good decision, but this time I needed the flame to burn my comfort zone and bring me back to making decisions that may make me have to pull roots up.

 

The fallout still rings around me everyday and I know it will get worse over the next few weeks. I don’t regret it though. I’m reminded every day that I took a chance on a bad decision, but am proud of myself for even taking a chance. After all, the beautiful thing about chances are that while they may have a likelihood of burning up in flames, they also can become something much more profound and meaningful than you could have ever realized.

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