The High Cost of Maybe

A support letter to the chronically undecided.

Time to change has come and gone, watched your fears become your God, Alice in Chains warns. The official anthem of anyone who’s scrolled past their own instincts while waiting for permission to act.

Before she made the decision, she spent four evenings researching espresso machines. Not because she loved espresso; she didn’t. But because modern life taught her that every choice mattered too much. Each tab open on her browser felt like a vote against regret. By the time she hit buy, she wasn’t sure if she wanted the coffee or just to stop negotiating with herself.

He didn’t plan to start therapy. He just ran out of reasons not to. No research, no overthinking — just a Tuesday and a calendar gap. The therapist wasn’t a sage. But by week four, he’d stopped dodging his own questions, and he was finally sleeping through the night.

Most people don’t mourn the bad choice. They mourn the time spent polishing an imaginary best-case scenario until it became a mirror they couldn’t look into. The tragedy isn’t a wrong turn; it’s the standstill.

Choice wears a charming face now. Slick UX, curated content, Tinder bios with literary quotes. But beneath the velvet glove is a grip that doesn’t let go — because choosing means giving up the fantasy of better.

We treat decisions like auditions for an ideal life. One wrong move, and the whole act crumbles. So we keep waiting for certainty, for the one, for the version of events where nothing is wasted. But the waiting is the waste.

FOMO isn’t about missing real opportunities — it’s about missing imaginary ones. That dream job you never applied to. The soulmate who only exists in algorithmic theory. We’re choosing between reality and fantasy, and the fantasy always wins because it never has to deliver.

Somewhere along the line, we mistook hesitation for wisdom. But what if wisdom is what happens after the choice? Maybe it’s better to start moving and let meaning catch up. To treat outcomes like collaborators instead of enemies.

Every choice is a tiny rebellion against perfection. It’s not the ideal partner, the dream gig, the five-year plan. It’s saying yes to the person who texts back, the job that pays enough, the version of your life that actually exists.

And remember: you’re not signing a blood pact — you’re just picking a direction. Even half-assed forward movement beats premium paralysis. Let the influencers optimize. You’ve got places to be. And if it turns out wrong? At least it’s your wrong.

---

If this post made you reflect or chuckle, subscribe (free or paid) so you don’t miss the next one. Even free subs tell the algorithm this is worth reading.

Prefer one-time support? You can buy me a potion of inspiration — any amount, your choice. Potions = stories. It’s science.