The prison of an abundance of choice

It was lunchtime. I sat at the table and started looking for some sort of entertainment. I began scrolling through an abundance of choice — from YouTube, to Netflix, Substack and Instagram or TikTok — it felt as though the options were infinite, and in fact they were. Even if I were to pick Substack, one article after the other they all seemed appealing, and if I were to pick one I would stop, because the thought of finding something better had already crept into my mind — "What if I'm wasting my time?" — and as we all know, in an era where everything is optimised for maximum productivity, and waiting or wandering is seen as wasteful, even consuming something not worth consuming is not permitted. In the blink of a scroll, the time I had carved out for lunch was gone, and the only media consumed were the first three lines of a random article.

The chase of gold. The chase of the better option.

“Sit down and think” - Anna Longinova

I have always been grateful for my privilege — I was born into a family that allowed me whatever I desired, which is a blessing, but somehow also a curse. I would get lost in the abundance of choice; my freedom, more than an opportunity, became a prison I had built around myself, because rather than choosing something I would prefer not to choose anything at all. I once made an artwork for one of my classes, inspired by the artist Duchamp. I bought a cage, painted it gold, laid a red carpet inside, added a small bed, and placed an egg in the middle. The meaning: that when one is born, they are already caged — by the weight of duties placed upon them and by plans already laid out. At the same time, it represents the feeling of being frozen in time, the inability to make a choice.

A prison made of gold, because it is granted by the excess of freedom, certainly not the lack thereof.

Perhaps this is why, to find which way is best, one must first be willing to wander — to let themselves simply be, without judgement. And I believe that if my generation is more frozen than others, it is precisely because of the obsession with not being "cringe," with not being too much, with not making the wrong career choice. You have to know what you want, what you strive for — if you haven't been working obsessively toward the same goal since you were ten, you are not worth employing. I read somewhere that "embarrassment is an under-explored emotion," and I agree.

Everything you do is cringe until it becomes successful, because the act of believing in yourself can, to a certain extent, already be cringe — and an increased level of confidence quickly becomes arrogance. But maybe a little arrogance is necessary if you want to accomplish something worth accomplishing. There are many things I have stopped myself from doing or saying to avoid appearing embarrassing in the eyes of others. However, what I noticed is that this made me invisible — there were not many reasons to dislike me, but simultaneously not many reasons to like me either. A ghost of who I originally was. Which is why, now, being seen feels like a privilege — even when it means being teased by friends for the way I speak, or occasionally walk.

“La Mémoire” - René Magritte

So let me tell you a story. Like many people I know, I enjoy the occasional thrift shopping hunt — always looking for that one missing piece that, when found, makes you feel as though you've struck gold. I was browsing at a big flea market and stumbled upon an older man's stand. He was elegant — a long coat, a lovely hat, not very tall, but with the eyes of someone who had always been in this business. I was looking for a coat, specifically a Loden, a classic Germanic style. He showed me different options, and for each one he told me to stand proud — that the coat's beauty depended on my attitude, that my energy was meant to give it life. I tried to stand proud. But each time he showed me a different cut or size, I would say "No, this is too big" or "too small" — to which he replied that I was closing the door before I had even tried it on, before we had actually checked whether the size was wrong at all. And then he added that even if something was too big, it was up to my personality to fill it completely — to make it work for me. In a few words: learn to make the best of what you get. These observations were, of course, followed by compliments that certainly struck my ego.

From this interaction I brought home two conclusions:

The first: he definitely chose the right business — I bought not one but three coats.

The second, and more important: more often than not, we close the door before putting even one foot through it. We block ourselves with the thousand excuses that flood our heads before we give something a try. And this, I've realised, is also at the root of the fear of choosing — because what I've learned from my own fears is that the only thing scarier than choosing wrong is staying stuck in the same place, year after year.

And yet, here we are. All of this to say: I now have three lovely coats, and from now on I will not stop myself from trying — even if something looks too big, too colourful, or too scary.

Change is found in discomfort, and that is what I encourage you to seek. Even if it feels too big, you can grow into it.

So seek failure with a vengeance, because success is what you might surprisingly find instead.

Thank you for reading.