homer simpson, the simpsons, mental claustrophobia, decisions, panic

Decisions, decisions, decisions

Did you know that the average grown-up woman makes 59 decisions a day outside of work? Doesn’t that sound exhausting? But, if you stop and think, you can easily see how that happens. Which supplement to take? Which soap/shower gel/shower oil/scrub to use. What serum/foundation/fake tan to coat yourself in. Which pants? Which bra – the really painful one or the quite painful one? Which bus? Which insurer? Which dentist? Which coffee? Which paint colour? Which supermarket? Which ISA? Which birthday present for him/her/it? And on and on…

Are we, at this point, merely decision-making machines? Not caring what we really like but just needing to get the decision over with so we can move on to the next decision. Lumping the decisions together in list form so we can attack them all at once. Sending out ill-advised WhatsApp group questions to help us make a decision and then feeling maddened when all the opinions flood in. Longing for auto-pilot. Fearing autopilot because it might mean that our spirits are just mechanical. Are we in fact powered by decision-making? Would we lose all our sense of self if we stopped deciding, deciding, deciding…

That, surely, is the point of those hospital-y spa holidays. Not the detox and the cleanse and the thinness and the bright whites of the eyes. But the institutional quality. We know we’ll wear a dressing gown and someone else will decide everything for us for all of our stay. What to eat, when to poo, how to move. We will become immediately surrendered. We will be still. And then we will be all fresh to make more decisions. Now which website has the best recommendations and who should I go with?

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