Do something scary. Anyway, it's unavoidable.

If there was one defining neurotic question that has plagued me most of my cognizant life, it would be this:


I was almost released from the tyranny of this question by a much-loved prof who explained that decision-making is an irrational process: i.e. most times, there really is no right decision, only the one you make. There are always consequences no matter what. But the word "consequences" needn't be so loaded. It's really just another word for outcomes. How you feel about the outcomes depends on your ethics. I mean, if you rip someone's heart out with your teeth, and as a result they rip out someone else's heart , hopefully you come the realization that yours might have been a bad decision. But, that's up to you.

Anyway, I said "almost released" earlier because it took me until now, almost four years later, to really -- I mean corporeally -- understand that the decisions I make will not likely end the world (especially since I don't have access to The Button). It has also taken me a very long time to understand that my decisions are something I get to own, like a present I have left for myself under the tree. Decisions are not something a house fire, or someone's different opinion, or a disapproving look, can take away from me.

Even if my decisions make me look stupid, I take pride in having had the courage to make a decision at all. My decisions are the manifestation of the level of trust, or lack thereof, that I have in myself. They are mirrors of my internal life writ large in the world. So, in that way, they are pretty useful. For instance, I might say to myself, "OK, so that decision made me look more than a little stupid. Won't be doing that anytime again soon." Now I have a decision-making aid.


Of course, with great power comes great responsibility. Which means that taking ownership of my decision-making also means I am responsible for cleaning up the messes I make. Since starting this blog, I've made some terrible publishing decisions which, I am happy to say, after a day of self torture, I did remedy, going back in to the posts and deleting the offending sections.


Like a true friend, there is nothing my body won't do to let me know I've made a wrong decision, especially when my mind has ceased to demonstrate sound judgment. Usually, I feel heartsick right down to my toes. So for 2009, I have decided to trust my body more. (Then again, my body has also led to some decisions that have carved up my soul pretty painfully. But since my body pays for those decisions, too, again in the currency of heartsickness, I have decided to continue relying on my body anyway. No system is perfect.)

One thing I know for sure, my brain simply cannot be trusted.


Today, as I tramped through the snow in Trinity Bellwoods park on my way to meet my friend Jacline and her family for brunch, I saw something hanging from a tree. I almost walked past it but the birght yellow bag caught my attention, and I decided to crane my head around to see what it was.


What it was was someone's keys. Some person must have lost the keys on the ground, and some other kind soul found them and decided to string them up in the nearest tree like tinsel. During a morning run through my neighbourhood in Berlin in September, I came across a little canvas hanging down from a balcony a few storeys up. The canvas swung in the breeze at eye level, like the world around it was its own outdoor gallery. I had decided not to take my camera that morning so I wasn't able to photograph that exquisite encounter. Today, however, I did decide to pack the camera. And although the frigid wind was burning my fingers, I put down my bags and took the time to photograph the keys. And as I looked at the pictures later, I noticed the little ladybug key chain. How exquisite!


Tonight I had the option of spending the evening with some of my favourite people: Kim and Abi and John.



But I chose to stay home to clean my apartment and then to write or paint. Not because I would not have loved spending time with them (they are dear, dear, dear to me). But because I recognized the need for a ritual for myself tonight . . .

. . . Starting with my apartment burning down on January 2nd last year -- and from there continuing with my decision to move to Seattle in February (potentially to get married), followed by my decision to return to Toronto in March (potentially to get my shit together), then my decision to visit Abi and John in Berlin in April (to do something fun), then to sublet Abi and John's home in Parkdale from May to August while they were in Berlin (while I figured out what to do next), during which time I decided to return to Berlin for the entire month of September to assess if I might want to move there for good but ultimately deciding that I was in no condition to decide (turns out I was anemic), so I returned to Toronto in October, where I decided that it would be good for my soul to drink copious amounts of coffee with Kim as we jittered into November, the month in which I decided not to take a choice job most people would have given their first borns for, and, finally, in December I put my foot down with certain family members who had made decisions that had hurt me badly, so I decided it was time to speak up, LOUDLY, which I have also decided not to blog about in great detail (although god knows I'd love to vent) because I've decided that this is no place for that -- all in all, this has been one hell of a fucking nutjob of a year. There's no other way to put it.

One thing I can say about it, though: I regret nothing. Seriously. I have decided to accept that I am not a theoretical person. I need to actually go out in the world and get scraped up before I know for sure if my decisions will be, or have already been, not such good ideas. I have decided that I will gracefully pay any stupid tax I incur, and then pat myself on the back for having taken risks.



Tonight my beautiful, tender, loving friend, Abi, wrapped me up in a blanket of her wish for my safety in the new year, which, for her, looks like a cozy landing pad: a house or a condo where I can finally lay down my burdens, rebuild and rest. I love her for that wish. But I'm not ready to stay put. My brain can't say why, my body has just made that decision for me.

And that's the thing about decisions. They really are irrational. Inexplicable. I can't say why I am not ready to decide what will happen in April when my landlord returns for her apartment and I will be homeless again. But I've decided it's OK to be in this transitional place a little longer.

I have decided, however, that caffinating with Kim remains essential in 2009 because she is the best at kicking my existential ass at every coffee date. Everyone has been a lifeline during this ridiculous year, but Kim has been my daily partner in the incredibly disciplined practice of the world's most comprehensively satisfying daily mantra: Oy. OYYYYYYYYYYY.


One other thing I know for sure: whatever decisions I make going forward, they will definitely be the right ones because they will be the ones I decided to make.