Eeny Meeny Miney Moe

(Sorry if that title makes you want to listen to this aptly-titled musical snack while you read. Be my guest.)
 

These last few months have been rePLETE with decision-making, and I tell you what, sir.  Decision-making is not my strong suit.  Ever since that 2002 Shopping Trip when I wiled away hours one afternoon pacing back and forth through Macy’s, vacillating about whether or not to buy my first pair of summery wedges (spoiler alert: I eventually bought them…to wear with my 7^th grade bellbottoms), I’ve had to come face-to-face with the annoying and inconvenient truth: I strongly dislike having to make decisions, thankyouverymuch.

Can someone else just make them for me?  Can someone else choose where we go out to eat?
 

I need a Continental Congress for my personal life.

BUT HELLO WHAT KIND OF LIFE WOULD THAT BE.
 

So, in my quest to embrace the #YEAROFDOING and being 25 and uncomfortably wearing the façade of adulthood, I’m trying to be more decisive when it comes to making decisions and being more deliberate about what I want.  Not so much when it comes to which kind of pizza to order (the one with allll the meat, duh) or which shoes to buy (the tan strappy wedges because you already have dark brown wedges and black strappy wedges but not summer tan ones) (I promise my life doesn’t revolve around wedges although I’ve already mentioned them 5x), but like the BIG things.  
 

Jobs.  Maybe grad school? Apartments.  Should I ever start my own bakery? UGH.  And freaking dating.

It would be soooooo much easier to defer these things to my family, my roommate, my co-workers, my friends, and the Trader Joe’s cashier, but that ain’t exactly how life works around these parts, apparently.  
 

So while we might have found a new apartment (fingers crossed) and at least I have a job but I’ll probably take the next year to think about grad school and I’m not even sure what dating is anymore, I’ll just take after the ancient Egyptians and live in (or next to) de NILE.
 

In the meantime, however, I’ll make easier decisions.  Funner decisions. 

Maybe I’ll choose to spend a rejuvenating weekend in California with my favorite Mosely Bears going to the beach, lusting after the gilded triptychs and illuminated manuscripts at the Getty Museum, and traversing the Santa Monica pier. 

Or decide to eat 8 doughnuts for breakfast.  #noregrets 

Continuing to live with Nicole de Lancret isn’t even a decision I have to think about making because she is legitimately the ULTIMATE BEST and made me feel so special and loved on my birthday, throwing me a surprise fiesta and then taking me horseback riding.  
 

But mostly because she’s the best, and no one else looks this good riding a mule.  

Maybe we’ll watch the new Avengers movie on opening night at a drive-in, eating all the white cheddar popcorn and peanut butter M&Ms, not even caring that the dialogue is hard to hear because, obviously, CHRIS EVANS! (And, of course, my boyfriend: Jeremy Renner.)

And then I’ll decide to go up in a hot air balloon as a birthday present to myself, and it will be the most romantic summation of everything I dreamed and hoped it would be. 

It’s hard not to get caught up in comparing myself/yourself/ourselves to everybody else, to thinking that I/you/we are falling behind on this non-existent but self-imposed timeline of what should be happening for my/your/our lives, especially when it seems like everyone else is getting engaged! And married! And buying houses and having babies and traveling to Asia and going to law school and graduating from law school!   

I get it.

But recently I’ve been trying to stop and look around more often at what my life is.  At how my life is different, but not better or less than anyone else’s, reminding myself that

my life is good and it is full.  

Just like that balloon.