A Fork in the Road

A few words about intuition

A fork in the road forces us to make a choice. The road veering to the right is sunlit, shoulders speckled with wildflowers, and looks like a fairly smooth ride. The road to the left appears to be under construction judging by the bright orange, metal signs, barricades, and massive machinery strew along the course that is creating clouds of dust rendering obstacles a mystery. Seems like a no-brainer. Yet, there was point when choosing a direction would have been an inscrutable decision for me. A fog of anxiety would have disguised the obvious into something much more ambiguous.

Even small, seemingly ridiculous decisions such as choosing a pencil or a pen would give me anxiety. I would attempt to forecast the favorable option by picturing words in both ink and lead, which only served to stir up panic around the fact that I was taking an absurd amount of time and appeared to lack enough brain cells to make such a choice. It’s not that I couldn’t make that decision, it’s that I couldn’t make that decision without the fear of failure. I feared the consequence of choosing the wrong writing utensil! Fortunately, I only have one keyboard and was able to recruit a few more brain cells to type this up.

I knew that I wanted the pencil. I’d take a good old-fashioned, number 2, dipped in marigold paint, with a freshly sharpened tip and pale pink eraser over ink any day of the week. I detested this indecisiveness, and for years, I struggled to unbury the roots. The sweet song of my inner voice had been trapped under a thick blanket woven out of the messages I’d been fed; I was in control of the loom. In reality, the consequence was a perception fabricated from the lack of trust I had in my ability to make sound, independent decisions.

My mother worked hard to hide her battle with the bottle. My concerns and discontent sought resolution, which meant lifting the veil. I became vocal when the rest of the family was quiet, unaware of the repercussions that would follow. She had to protect her demon from her daughter and made sure to put me in my place with a careful choice of words. The story was that I was an amateur, clumsily wandering around a big-league field, wearing shoes much too large to fill. If I accomplished anything, credit was awarded to anyone who may have done it for me, as surely, I could not have succeeded in such a sloppy state. I would eventually learn about the absolute mindfuck of gaslighting from a psychologist. She essentially handed me a fire extinguisher and pulled the pin. When the blaze and haze dissipated to reveal a new reality, I could finally begin to unravel the blanket trapping the sweet song of my intuition.

Think back to a time when you were presented with choices. Maybe you wanted the red popsicle but chose the green because you knew that your brother would want the red. This intermingles with people-pleasing, but we’ll save that for another day. Maybe a Monday. Getting back, there wasn’t much of a consequence. You both got sugar, and you snuck a red popsicle later on when no one was looking. Now let’s say you’re grown up and are buying your own damn popsicles. You’re offered two jobs on the same day. One of them sounds so-so, nothing too exciting, but has great perks and pays well. The other sounds like a total adventure, rewarding and fulfilling, but you’d be taking a pay cut and increasing your commute. Of course, there is a list of other factors we could consider, but I’m going to keep things simple here (I don’t have that kind of time). What to do? Call your friends and family for the advice! Your intuition tells you to take on the adventure job, with near/dear connections, but your advisors say to go for the perks, the money, and the short commute. You listen to the advisors. The consequence is that you regret your decision. The keywords (and a great song by Alice in Chains) are your decision. This very non-hypothetical situation was a recent reprise of this lesson in my adventure. Fortunately, I was afforded a second chance but could have avoided some stress and hardship if I would’ve trusted my gut. The funny thing is that my intuition continued to gift me with this heavy discontent after I accepted the job I didn’t want. I was uncomfortable and anxious until I made amends, which I’m convinced were flags from my intuition.

I continue to blow through barricades and take shitty backroads to unfamiliar places. That intuition whispers “I don’t see any cops, make a U-turn”. I’ll still consult others and once in a while I’ll take their shitty advice, but I do so much more cautiously. My intuition might say “I told you so, Dear” or “it’s alright to fuck up, Honey”. Either way, I can get back on the tracks of the adventure. I’m now aware that the anxiety of making a choice comes not from the decision itself, but from that hesitancy to trust the field guide. It’s this recognition that has helped me find some lost strength. It’s the knowing that I’m quite capable of choosing that damn pencil with confidence.