Decisions, decisions

Decisions, decisions

When decisions rule

It’s hard not knowing where you fit.

Not belonging has become my modus operandi.  From my early years as a young, shy synchronized swimmer teased by older teammates, to an adopted kid who felt like a foreigner in her family, to an Anglophone living in a Francophone world, I’ve felt like an outsider.

The decision about what to do with my life has been with me since high school.  At first, it was an innocuous, endearing trait.  I’ll never forget what a university psychologist once told me during a group career counselling session:

“That’s what I really like about you, Kim: you dream.  You have multiple interests and are open to all possibilities.  Your view on life is refreshing.”

I took it as a compliment.  I used to think of it as one of my positive traits.  Now, it’s a curse that keeps me up at night.  Not knowing has become my Achilles Heel.  Not being able to make decisions is an addiction.

On any given week, my thought process around my vocation looks something like this:

Should I be a yoga therapist?  Not challenging enough, plus it doesn’t pay the bills.

A physiotherapist?  My marks aren’t what they need to be.  

A psychologist, then.  The pre-requisites needed to apply (that I don’t have) are numerous.

No, no, no.  A nurse.  Forget it.  I hate shift work.

An architect.  I’m creative and used to be good at math. *Takes out her cellphone calculator to calculate how long it’s been since her last math class*

Pilot!  I’m scared of heights so seems reasonable. 

Artist.  If memory serves, I could hold a drawing pencil before I could walk. 

Well, I’ve always wanted to perfect my French so why not kill two birds with one stone and become a French teacher. I hear those BC kids could really use the help.

Back to physiotherapy.  My marks haven’t changed in the past week.  Shiiiiiiit. 

I’m nuts so psychologist seems like a no-brainer.

Comedian, clearly.

Time moves on

My indecision is delibitating.  My not knowing where I belong is heartbreaking.  The emotional toll that comes from not being able to focus is exhausting.  With each passing year, I’m confronted with the fact that I have yet to make any real progress in figuring out my career path.  The choices are numerous and enticing.  The paradox of choice is real.  I know the common denominator (a math term, for the record) is me.  I simply can’t for the life of me figure out who I’m supposed to be.

I wonder sometimes whether other people suffer the same affliction.  I sure as hell hope not.

Aboulomania?  Never heard of it.  Sounds like something I’d learn about in that psych degree.  I can’t be certain though.

 

Photo credit: Rory Tucker

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