Decision making is not taught well in school. My first memory of a conscious effort to learn about making decisions was during high school. My social studies teacher attempted to teach me about the development of culture and the nature of people. Its value in forging my own decision making process was negligible. My parents taught me about values, about good and bad, right and wrong.
The craft of good decision making intrigues me. Am I making a wise decision to discard so much of my past and to respond to the calling of an unclear path ahead? What informs my decisions?
I needed to identify what I wanted. I wanted to lighten my load and open my eyes to a less tethered life.
Then I inquired about what motivated my decision. My wife, Sarla died in 2020 at 68 years old. I’m 68 years old. Sarla’s untimely departure brought forth acknowledgment that I don’t know how much more time I have on the planet. I want to make hay while I can, while I’m still vital, and while I feel that I’ve got another run in me.
I considered alternatives. I couldn’t reconcile myself to complacence. Staying put in a comfortable home surrounded by nice things isn’t satisfactory. I needed to move on, to move out.
I weighed the issues. Would I miss my friends? Some of these relationships are close and decades old. How will my absence influence my relationship with my grandchildren during their key developmental years? Will I long for familiarity? Will I yearn for the hours that I typically spend in my garden, especially during the spring, summer, and fall? What if I travel for 3 months and settle in one place for the next three? What if, what if, what if? Long ago a friend introduced me to the concept of “Going to the circus with the whatifskis,” following a stream of endless questions. Some are necessary. but most obscure clear judgment.
Sarla introduced me to the concept of “choiceless choices.” It’s a variant on following your muse. If the choice is obvious, then turning away from it would be a mistake. I need to go.
I took action. I committed to buying my rig on December 17, 2020. I committed to selling my house at the same time. I considered downsizing my residence and keeping a base in Memphis. The scant supply of homes on the market didn’t produce a suitable replacement home. I elected to make my rig my home. I decided to store enough furniture for a two bedroom house at some point in the future.
I reflected on these decisions. Thus far I’ve not received warning messages from my internal dialogue. I’m comfortable at this moment in the “not knowing,” a concept taught to me by friend, Cyndi Lee.
“The world is your oyster” is a quote often associated with advice given to a young person by someone older. In spite of not qualifying as a young person, I can still find something special, the proverbial pearl in the oyster. It will be guided by the questions discussed above and the decisions that are made from that process.