I don’t know if this will help, but I’ve spent the last three nights staring at the ceiling, playing a very specific, very cruel movie in my head. In this movie, it’s five years from now, and I am sitting in a chair, looking out a window, filled with the most bitter, heavy kind of regret. I’m thinking, "If only I hadn't made that choice back in 2026. If only I had known."

It’s a bit strange, but we are often more haunted by the people we might become than by the people we actually are. We aren't just afraid of the choice; we are afraid of the version of ourselves that has to live with the consequences if it all goes sideways. We are afraid of the "Future Me" who looks back at the "Present Me" with resentment.

That fear is heavy. It’s a weight in the stomach. It’s a tightness in the throat that says: "Don't mess this up."

Most books about decision-making want to rush you past this part. They want to give you a tool to "eliminate" the fear or a mindset shift to "embrace" the risk. But I think we need to stay here for a moment. We need to acknowledge that the fear of choosing wrong is a real, valid, and deeply painful place to be. It’s not just a "mental hurdle"; it’s a form of grief for all the paths you won't get to take.

I’ve noticed that when I’m caught in this fear, I start to treat my life like a minefield. Every step feels high-stakes. I start imagining that if I pick the wrong job, I’ll never be happy again. If I leave the wrong person, I’ll be alone forever. If I move to the wrong city, I’ll wither away. We take a single decision and we stretch it out until it covers the rest of our existence.

This is the anxiety of the "Infinite Butterfly Effect." We think that one small mistake today will snowball into a catastrophic failure a decade from now. And so, we freeze. We stay exactly where we are, even if we’re unhappy, because the current unhappiness is known. It feels safer than the unknown regret that might be waiting for us around the corner.

It’s exhausting to be your own judge and jury before the crime has even been committed.

I don’t want to fix this too quickly because I want you to feel seen in this mess. It’s okay to feel slightly sick when you think about the "what ifs." It’s okay to feel a bit hopeless when you realize that you can’t see the future, no matter how many spreadsheets you make or how many cards you pull.

When I’m in this state and I reach for my tarot deck, I’m often not looking for guidance. I’m looking for an escape. I want the cards to promise me that there is no "wrong" choice. But the cards—if they’re being honest—don't do that. Instead, they show me the Nine of Swords. That person sitting up in bed, head in hands, with nine heavy swords hanging on the wall behind them.

I used to think those swords were the problems themselves. But then I realized: the swords aren't touching the person. They are just hanging there. The pain isn't coming from the choice; it’s coming from the thoughts about the choice. It’s the mental rehearsal of failure. It’s the pre-grieving of a life you haven't even lost yet.

There is a specific kind of cruelty in our imagination. It only shows us the best-case scenario for the path we don't take, and the worst-case scenario for the path we do take.

If you stay, your mind shows you the adventure you’re missing.
If you leave, your mind shows you the stability you’re throwing away.

We compare a messy, real-life reality with a polished, fictional fantasy. No wonder we’re terrified. We’re competing against a version of "right" that doesn't actually exist. We’re fighting ghosts.

I think we’re so scared of choosing wrong because we’ve been told that "wrong" means "wasted." We’ve been told that we only get one shot, one life, one timeline. And that is true, in a way. But it’s also a very narrow way to look at a soul. If you choose the "wrong" thing, you still learn the "right" lessons for who you’re becoming.

But again, I know that doesn't make the heart stop pounding right now.

Let yourself feel the weight of the fear. Don't try to push it away or "reframe" it into an opportunity just yet. If it feels heavy, let it be heavy. If it feels dark, let it be dark. You are allowed to be scared of making a mistake. You are allowed to worry about the future. You are allowed to be human.

You are safe here, even in your uncertainty. You don't have to be brave today. You just have to be here.

We spend so much time trying to avoid the "wrong" choice that we forget to notice that we’re already surviving. You’ve probably made "wrong" choices before. Think back to one. A small one, maybe. You survived it. You adjusted. You found a new way to breathe. The "Future You" that you’re so afraid of is actually quite resilient. They know how to handle things better than the "Present You" gives them credit for.

I’m going to leave you here, in this slightly uncomfortable, slightly heavy space. We aren't going to pull a card for the "solution" yet. We’re just going to sit in the room with the nine swords for a while, and realize that even though they are hanging there, the sun is still going to come up tomorrow.

(It’s a bit strange, but sometimes the fear of choosing wrong
is the only thing keeping us from seeing that we’re already okay.)

Perspective

External references open in a new tab.

• APA — Stress & decision-making
• Psychology Today — Decision making basics

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