What if a lot of my “what ifs” are not about having made the wrong choice, but no choice at all?
Editor's Note: Joey Parsons is co-host of the thebigda Podcast, where she and Dan Abbate explore authenticity, creativity, personal growth, and the often messy journey of becoming who we're meant to be.
I Was Never a Pre-Crastinator
Let me start by saying I was never a pre-crastinator. I wrote every single college paper at 4 a.m., the day it was due, weeping on my kitchen floor.
I’ve always needed deadlines, or opening nights, or a deep fear of disappointing someone I respect — some kind of pressure to galvanize me.
I always try to imagine all possible outcomes and workarounds and conversations I may have in hopes of corralling all the chaos into something linear and predictable.
The Domains I Never Bought
Gabra owns a hundred website domains, snapping them up with catchy names or phrases whenever she has a killer idea. She has the idea, plants the seed for it, and just assumes the seed will germinate when the time is right. Not all seeds will grow, but with all that sowing, there must eventually be something to reap. I, however, do a lot of hand wringing and mental gymnastics trying to flesh out an idea before committing to planting anything. Why?
I own one website domain. My name. And my website is terribly outdated because I hate working on it. I HATE, hate it. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve just sold it to that name-twin tech guy in Dripping Springs when he offered — sorry, Texas Joey Parsons.
My obsessive multi-outcome planning and anticipation of reactions — all of it may look responsible from the outside. But underneath, the panic never ceases. Is this restlessness the result, or a symptom of something else?
I’ve just settled back from my summertime visit out west.
And I turn 52 later this week. 52.
There are a lot of things I COULD do today. I need to declutter and organize that one corner of my apartment. The Dead Zone, I call it, where piles of things I don’t want to deal with grow taller every day.
The Rube Goldberg Machine of My Apartment
Using just my apartment as an example of my weird paralysis? It’s a Rube Goldberg machine of consequence. I can’t clear out the Dead Zone until I decide what piece of furniture needs to be acquired for the space. Do I want to spend gobs of money to ship out the heavy-ass antique sewing machine mom left me when she died, or perhaps place hold with something from IKEA that just starts the process? The size of whichever I choose will dictate how far over the standing mirror moves to the right. Then all the art I’ve acquired and hung over the last eighteen years will need to shift over to make space for the large painting that West Virginian artist I adore sent me and has leaned up against a closet for the last four years. Maybe I need to cull the bookshelves first to make room for stuff from the Dead Zone that I decide to keep. But if I’m going to do that, I should clean out my kitchen cabinets first, right? Before any of that, should I maybe try selling the CD collection I've compiled in binders that feel like photo albums of my personhood and past?
Dear god, just pull the covers over my head right now.
What Indecision Has Actually Cost Me
I am so fearful of making the wrong decision — any decision at all takes an agonizingly long time. What has indecision cost me? Maybe I should have done that Dame Edna tour when I first moved to the city instead of sticking around and hedging my bets. Maybe I should have taken that apartment on Bowery 25 years ago when it was offered to me for a second time. Maybe I should have just gone on ahead to Las Vegas to be a showgirl — my plan B if I hadn’t been accepted to grad school.
What if a lot of my “what ifs” are not about having made the wrong choice, but no choice at all?
The Fear of Being Trapped in a Bad Decision
When putting aside standard great fears like being buried alive or of claymation, I think my greatest lifelong fear is that of being trapped in a bad decision.
In a job or contract I hate.
In a bad marriage.
Motherhood.
What if I choose wrong? How do I wrestle with the consequences? What if I get stuck? Could I forgive myself? I can’t un-hammer holes in the wall. I can’t un-have a kid. There is something about finality — a definitive decision — that stops me in my tracks. I never want to feel caged, never want my freedom yanked away.
Planting the Seeds Anyway
Surrendering possibility feels like… hope slipping through my fingers like sand. If I don’t choose, all the timelines still exist. But holding onto this one so tightly is getting me nowhere fast.
Has my lifelong attempt to avoid being boxed in actually become what is making me feel stuck right now?
Oh, the irony…
If I’m not moving forward because I’m afraid of what might grow from the seeds I plant, how might life blossom for me if I plant them anyway…?
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At Clotine, we're fascinated by people who choose authenticity over approval, curiosity over convention, and growth over comfort.
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