Deciding not to Decide.
How I moved forward in uncertainty by letting go of the need to decide.
Should I stay or should I go?
My mind vacillated between these two options in a relentless game of tug-of-war. I wanted clarity. I wanted a sense of knowing which way was right. But the wrinkles on my forehead were signs that I was not finding peace.
Both options constantly tugged with extreme force, leaving me exhausted.
It was mid-March in the height of uncertainty around Covid-19. I had just left my life in Bali for Singapore to be in a more developed environment as I planned my next move.
Option 1: Stay in Singapore, the country touted for having some of the best controls and preparedness for Covid-19.
I had been lucky to make my way there from my home in Bali before mandated self-quarantines and, ultimately, border shut downs took hold. Singapore was close to my Bali home. Staying there could be a safe option, I reasoned. I could have a shot at “real life” if no lockdowns were imposed, and the room I rented in a large house with a rooftop deck could be a nice place to exist if they were.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Singapore was unfamiliar and just not home. When I did venture out, I felt slightly unsettled — in part by the crowds in a time of pandemic, and in part because I just didn’t know the country. Singapore was simply a potentially safe option that kept me close to Bali, the island of my heart.
Option two: get on a flight to my hometown, New Orleans, that I had already booked.
But the US was exploding with cases, and New Orleans had the highest growth rate in the world at that time. The 24+ hour journey home seemed to present an uncomfortable amount of risk. And it would take me a lot further from Bali. In some ways it felt like going home to live with my mom would be giving up my adventure, my dream and my path to reinvention.
Yet, there were pluses: a large house, a big yard in a warm and sunny environment, and, of course, time with my mom.
In the uncertainty, there were no clear answers. There were no ways to predict what would happen. No ability to plan for the what ifs or the worst case scenarios. Frankly, there are too many worst case scenarios to consider. So I wrestled. My sleep was restless.
The day before my scheduled flight, I woke up to this thought: True peace is only found within.
Frustrated with the mental tossing, I gave up.
I actively decided not to decide.
With 24 hours before my flight, I let go of weighing the pros and cons. Of seeking clarity. I let those tug-of-war voices take a much needed nap.
Instead, I decided to put one foot in front of the other in peace. I was curious as to what I would do the next morning, but no longer needed to find the answer.
I surrendered.
I flowed.
I meditated.
I did yoga on the roof.
I also packed my stuff, you know, just in case I decided to get on the plane the next the morning.
For the first time in weeks, I sat with peace for the whole day. My mind was quiet and calm. I had stopped fighting and was just resting amid the uncertainty.
It was brilliant. It was liberating. I still had no clue what would unfold, but I smiled into the adventure of it all, and told myself either I would get on the plane or I wouldn’t. And either would be OK.
That evening, I video chatted with my Balinese best friend, Ketut. I laughed, perhaps a bit nervously, at how I was still unsure of which path I would take.
He looked at me with kind eyes, and said, “Go home. Go be with your mom. Your mom misses you.” In that moment, his words took hold. I looked at him and nodded. He had spoken truth to me, and I knew that I would follow his lead.
I had spoken out to the universe that I would not make a decision. Perhaps the universe sent me someone who I trust completely to gently nudge me down a path. Or perhaps that’s just what I needed to believe.
Even though I had peace with the new plan, I cannot say the peace steadied me through the night. I cried. I cried because I was scared. Scared of the flight. Scared of what would come in the US. Scared, most of all, that I was letting go of my dreams in Bali. But I was no longer wrestling, I was mourning. I was accepting. And I let myself be afraid. I let myself mourn. I was gentle with this new emotion within me.
And then, in the early morning before the sun rose, I went to the airport and got on the plane. As I nestled into my (aggressively sanitized) seat, my steadiness and peace returned.
And, in the months that have followed, that peace has not left me.
Are you yearning for greater peace and balance?
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