I don’t know if this will help, but I spent forty-five minutes this morning staring at two different brands of oatmeal in the grocery store aisle. Forty-five minutes. One was organic and expensive; the other was familiar and cheap. I picked up the organic one, thought about my bank account, and put it back. I picked up the cheap one, thought about my health, and put it back.
Then I stood there. Just stood there. I looked at the tiles on the floor. I looked at a woman buying granola. I felt like if I made the "wrong" choice about the oatmeal, the entire trajectory of my day—maybe my life—would tilt off its axis.
It’s a bit strange, but that’s how it feels, isn’t it? Everything feels heavy. Everything feels like a final exam.I’m writing this because I know that feeling of being caught in the middle of a pendulum swing. You have Choice A and Choice B. They are sitting there, watching you. You look at Choice A and you think, "Yes, this makes sense. This is the logical path. This is what people expect of me." You feel a brief moment of relief. You decide: "Okay, I'll do A."
But then, two minutes later—or maybe two seconds later—a cold shiver of doubt runs down your spine.
And so you swing back. A to B. B to A. Back and forth.
You start making lists. You know the ones—the pros and cons lists that end up having an equal number of bullet points on both sides. You ask your friends, but their advice just adds Choice C and Choice D to the pile, and now you’re even more overwhelmed. You go to sleep thinking you’ve decided, only to wake up at 3 AM with your eyes wide open, realizing that the "decision" you made in the light of day feels like a lie in the dark.
I’ve spent a lot of my life in that loop. It’s exhausting. It’s a specific kind of tiredness that sleep doesn't fix. It’s the exhaustion of living in a future that hasn't happened yet, trying to solve problems that don't exist, and second-guessing a person (yourself) that you don't quite trust right now.
...I’m not a productivity expert. I don’t have a "5-step system to eliminate indecision." Honestly, I think those systems sometimes make it worse because they add a new thing to worry about: "Am I following the decision-making system correctly?"
I’m just someone who has spent a lot of time sitting on the floor with seventy-eight pieces of cardboard (tarot cards), trying to figure out why my brain won't just let me pick a direction and walk. And what I've learned—slowly, and often painfully—is that the swinging back and forth isn't usually about the choices themselves.
It’s about the feeling that you are standing on a bridge that might collapse the moment you take a step.
But caring can be paralyzing. When we go back and forth, we are trying to find a version of the future where we don't have to lose anything. We want the safety of A and the excitement of B. We want the growth of the new path and the comfort of the old one. We keep oscillating because we think if we swing fast enough, we can somehow be in two places at once.
I’ve realized that I often use "thinking" as a way to avoid "choosing." If I’m still weighing the options, I haven't actually failed at either one yet. As long as I'm in the loop, all possibilities are still alive. Choice A is still a potential success, and Choice B is still a potential dream. The moment I choose one, the other "dies." And that tiny, quiet funeral for the path not taken is what we’re often trying to avoid.
So we stay in the swing.
Maybe this. No, maybe that. But then again...It’s a restless energy. It makes you snap at people who ask "What are you doing this weekend?" because that question feels like a trap. It makes you scroll through your phone for hours, looking for an answer in someone else’s life that you know isn't there. You’re looking for a sign, but even when you see a sign, you spend twenty minutes wondering if you’re just interpreting it to fit what you think you want, but then you aren't sure what you want anyway.
I’m not sure if this makes sense, but sometimes I feel like I’m waiting for the "Real Me" to show up and make the choice for me. The "Real Me" who is brave, and certain, and doesn't care about oatmeal brands or career pivots. But the "Real Me" is usually just the person currently standing in the aisle, feeling a bit sweaty and very confused.
Tarot, for me, didn't provide the answers. It didn't say "Pick A." It just... slowed down the swing. It held up a mirror to the loop. When I pull cards while I'm in this back-and-forth state, they often don't show the future. They show the mess. They show the Two of Swords—that person sitting with their arms crossed, eyes blindfolded, refusing to look at the two options because looking means acting.
It’s a bit revealing, isn't it? To realize that the blindfold is something we put on ourselves.
...If you are reading this and you are currently in the middle of a swing, I want you to do something. It’s not a step. It’s just an observation.
Notice the physical sensation of the "Maybe."
Where do you feel it? In your chest? In your jaw?
Notice how much effort it takes to keep the pendulum moving. It takes a lot of work to stay undecided. It is a full-time job to keep second-guessing yourself.
I don’t want to fix this for you yet. I can’t. But I want us to sit here together in the loop for a moment. We’re not going to resolve it by the end of this page. We’re just going to acknowledge that the back-and-forth is happening, and it’s exhausting, and it’s real.
You’re not "indecisive." You’re just in the middle of a conversation with your fears, and they have a lot to say.
I’ve learned that the first part of moving forward isn't picking a side. It’s just admitting that you’re tired of the swinging. It’s saying, "I am here, and I am currently choosing nothing, and that is where I am."
We’ll get to the cards later. We’ll get to the "how" later. For now, just let the pendulum swing. Don't try to stop it. Don't grab it. Just watch it.
Maybe this. Maybe that. It’s okay. You’re here.(Let’s just breathe here for a second before we move to the next room.)
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