If you read this blog with any regularity, you’ve probably concluded that I’m at something of a crossroads. Posts like How to Know If You’re Settling and The Road Not Taken probably tipped you off. But, if not, then this post will leave you with no doubts.
And honestly, this comes as a big surprise. I’d sort of thought I was past the point of making major decisions about my life.
Do I go to college? [Check]
Do I move across the country by myself to go to grad school? [Check]
Do I get married to this guy? [Check]
Do I have a child? [Check]
Do I go back to grad school for my Ph.D.? [Check]
Do I have a second child? [Check]
Do I take a job in Texas? [Great big Texas-size Check]
I’ve written before about my unexpected love affair with Texas, so I won’t re-hash that topic other than to say that I never thought I’d even contemplate a move which would take me elsewhere. That just goes to show how we’re always evolving in ways that might not be immediately apparent. And that’s why I’m thinking through the process of making good choices–a process that relies heavily on self-knowledge.
If you’ve ever found yourself in this position, then you’re very familiar with the dangers involved with making poor decisions. (Believe me, I’ve been there. More than a few times.) But as a woman of a certain age, I’ve come to understand a few things that make the process a little easier. For instance:
There’s no such thing as a no-brainer.
Sometimes, the lure of a higher salary or a nicer house or a more popular location is very tempting–so the job (or partner) that offers those things makes the choice look like a no-brainer. But there’s always a place for your brain in decision-making.
That popular location probably comes with a higher cost of living; your higher salary, while appealing, won’t stretch as far. That nicer house is much larger than the one you’re managing; basic maintenance will take up more of your income. In both cases, your standard of living might actually be lower than it was before.
All of these are things your brain will tell you, but you have to give it enough time to move past the shiny surface of a new possibility and process the facts. I tend to be distracted by shiny surfaces. Knowing this helps me slow down, think carefully, and choose wisely.
Values matter.
We live in a culture that’s so obsessed with money and social status, it’s easy to forget the things you value most. In my case, honestly, those things don’t include money or status. At the top of my list is time.
One of the reasons higher education has been such a good fit for me is that professors are trusted to manage themselves. If you’ve earned a Ph.D.–which is, above all else, a self-directed project guided by fairly strict standards–you’re capable of managing students fairly, getting to campus when you need to, meeting deadlines, etc.. You don’t need a supervisor setting these priorities for you. This is the thinking that guides most universities.
I was able to be the kind of parent and partner I wanted to be precisely because I was trusted to manage my time. I set my own schedule, for the most part. I’d never be able to engage in any relationship–personal or professional–where self-management wasn’t at least part of the package.
Whatever I do with my life, knowing that time is what I value most helps guide all my decision-making.
Ego doesn’t matter.
If there’s one thing I definitely know about myself, it’s that I am rebellious by nature. Tell me I can’t do something–rest assured, I’ll find a way. And while that kind of determination can be a good thing, it’s also a curse. Telling myself That really isn’t what you want only leads another voice inside my head to say Oh, really? How about I tell you what I want?
That second voice is ego. It’s the voice of self-esteem–a good thing–but it’s also the voice of self-importance, which is not so great.
The fact that you can marry someone doesn’t mean you should. The fact that you’re positive you’d be good at a job doesn’t mean it’s a job you’d want. I’ve struggled to develop a strong sense of self-esteem, but I have to be really careful that confidence doesn’t turn into defiance. Making choices just to prove a point–even to yourself–is rarely a good idea.
Every choice is part of a trajectory.
As the poet Robert Frost writes in The Road Not Taken, “way leads on to way.” In other words, every choice is a launching pad for a whole new journey, since one choice inevitably leads to the next. You’re here because you made certain decisions; which direction are you headed next? Is that where you want to go, or does it just look like the easier path? Do you know for sure where you’re headed? How will you feel if you turn a corner and discover that you’re on a different road altogether?
This is the point at which making choices becomes really difficult: when we acknowledge that we can only ever see part of the road ahead. The best we can do is choose a course and set off with hope, resolving to deal with whatever we discover. And remember, anything can happen–even those things you’re absolutely sure never will.
As I sift through my choices, I’m being careful to keep in mind what I value most. I’m searching out a path that looks like it will lead to the kind of fulfillment I thrive on, not the rewards I’m told I should strive for. Most importantly, I’m keeping an open heart and reminding myself to dwell in possibility.
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