Mom’s Power of Decision
Mom had a knack for picking terrible films for movie night. It was a tradition on weekends that after church we’d stop by the video store, pick about 5 movies, and the whole family would watch one of them over chocolate shakes and cookies.
As kids, we knew what we liked, but it mostly involved Disney movies we had already forced out parents to watch about fifteen thousand times. They’d let us rent them, but they weren’t up for consideration when picking a family movie.
At the end of the day, it was always Mom who would make the final decision. Not because she liked imposing her choice, but because literally, nobody else would. Mom has always despised wasting time, so she’d just pick whatever looked like it didn’t have any sex scenes in it and we’d run with it.
One afternoon in 1992, the VCR tapes we brought back home included family drama Steel Magnolias.
I was 11.
I think Mom had seen one Julia Roberts movie before. You know, the one where she played a prostitute. So she decided that Julia Roberts was a hilarious family fun kind of girl. She took one look at the Steel Magnolias VCR case and made her choice.
Again, she never imposed, but we were bickering over which Disney movie to watch, and dad was on his side of the bed just generally observing the proceedings.
I lost the thread of the plot about 7 minutes it and never picked it back up.
In hindsight that’s a metaphor for my past relationships.
We picked on mom for years after that day. The day she chose a boring movie for her kids to watch during movie night.
She bore the brunt of that choice. In jest, certainly, but we still make fun of that day even today.
Here’s the thing though: She chose.
Make a Choice
I’ve struggled recently with choice and decisions.
A few months ago I decided, or instead discovered, that what I really want to be…what I’ve always been…is a writer. That’s given me direction, and a slightly narrower focus on what I spend my free time on than usual. This is a good thing.
However, most days when I come back home, I’m faced with a plethora of choices. Do I write my Paris guidebook for tourists who say “I wanna do what Parisians do but I also want to climb the Eiffel Tower”? Do I continue writing my satirical novel on startup culture? Do I move on to Volume 2 of my graphic novel even if I haven’t illustrated a single line for Volume 1? Do I write another navel-gazing post to exercise the writing I’m not doing in the first place?
Waiting for inspiration is a bullshit excuse. I should be writing, and I should be writing daily.
But, what about?
Why can’t I make a choice?
I’m coming to terms that perhaps I’m not quite as much of a procrastinator as I thought I was. It’s just that choice paralyses me.
Story Time
Three months ago, Line 6 of the metro was closed for some necessary repairs. I used to always take that line to get to work, so I had to find an alternate route. Line 14 came to the rescue, and my commute was barely affected. My office is halfway between those two lines anyway.
One thing did change though, I now come in through the back door of the startup incubator complex. Meaning I no longer get my coffee from the store at the front of the building, but rather from the cafeteria at the back.
A few months ago, a friend of mine exalted the properties, and flavour of the ubiquitous Flat White coffee. The store at the front does not carry Flat Whites, so I never tried one.
The cafeteria in the back does.
Ever since Line 6 closed my station, I’ve been ordering a Flat White to go. So much so that the Italian waitresses there greet me by my given name: “Hey! Flat white à emporter!”
Who am I to correct them?
Sometimes after lunch, I’ll grab a coffee with my boss, and he usually takes about 8 seconds deciding exactly which sort of coffee he’s in the mood for on any given day.
I take 0 seconds. Cause I always order the same thing.
A few weeks ago he asked me why.
“It takes away the choice problem”, I replied.
If I have fewer choices or no choices, my decision process is straightforward, quick, and flawless. Probably the reason why I order peppercorn sauce steak in every restaurant that carries it.
Remove Choice or Take The Plunge
The problem about removing choice is, as stated above that all my projects sound essential to me. The comic, the book, the guidebook, they all scratch a particular itch.
The question of “What should I work on tonight?” becomes “Which project do I vote off the island?”
I can’t seem to prioritise projects these days. Cause I can’t deal with the consequences of choice.
Mom never had that problem.
Yes, we picked on her for choosing a boring film when we were kids. Wouldn’t be the last time she did that, to be honest. But there’s one thing she knew how to do better than anyone else: she knew how to choose, and deal with the consequences later.
She wasn’t afraid to fail.
Even to this day we mostly remember the infamous day when she picked Steel Magnolias. We’ve all but forgotten all the other times when she chose actual good movies.
But she picked a movie. While we were bickering, and dad was cycling through all 999 channels of our cable provider (he’d stop for a weirdly long time on the Deutsche Welle, retweet if you agree), mom was making choices. Failing. Making better decisions next time. Learning.
I’ve tried a few times to get her to tell me her secrets, but it just comes so naturally to her that she doesn’t seem to think it’s a secret to begin with.
She just does it.
And when the consequences come, she deals with those in due time.
It’s impressive to watch.
Jump First, Ask Questions Later
I mentioned in one of my earlier posts about wanting to become the next Neil Gaiman. I recently read a collection of thoughts by him, illustrated by Chris Riddell. They collaborated on a book called Art Matters, which is basically a look inside Gaiman’s head regarding inspiration and creativity.
One of the things that struck me the most was when he’s trying to explain how he managed to become such a successful and prolific writer.
He doesn’t know how.
He made a list of things he wanted to achieve. Write a comic, write a book, write a script for Doctor Who. And when he was done with one project, he’d just go to the next thing on the list.
No choice involved. Just pure work. Powering through whatever is holding the rest of us back.
Next week, when I get paid, I will buy a large frame and a large piece of cardboard, and I will write my list. I will hang it on the big wall opposite the big window of my small apartment.
So that I don’t have to think. So that I don’t have to choose. Because as much as I wish I could do what my mom and Neil Gaiman do, I know I’ll be paralysed by the enormous amounts of projects I want to finish before a coffee overdose does me in.
I’ll write my list. And I’ll work on whatever’s next.
Oh god.
Which font should I use?
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