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Choice. It's a bitch. Some of us have a lot of it. And some of us don't. That ain't bad, either of those states of being. The trick is to shoulder the burden of your possibilities and not cave, and to weather the inevitability of your choices and not become a facist.
The thing that really gets me these days is the amount of emotional investment we all have in each others decisions. As if it effects us profoundly, as if someone choosing the opposite of what we chose is the equivalent of spitting out a mouthful of our favorite wine, onto our white dress shirt, and proclaiming to the crowd that what we love is junk.
The anger I hear coming from people seems so strange. Like they are being insulted. There is some sort of unnamed stress here, that I would imagine isn't really about children, or marriage, or even choice. I think it's about the torture of watching someone else think, of having to ponder the weird workings of their alien self.
Look at your feet. They are still there. You will still do whatever it is that you need to do. Please try to take your judgement off of the person whose insides you cannot pretend to understand, no matter what they write, and no matter how many times you are sure you have heard it all before.
