Decision duck

Today I was driving along the Barton highway and there were these two ducks in the middle of the road. It seemed they’d stopped to discuss whether crossing the road was the right choice or not. As I was approaching them, I was thinking, “get it together, ducks, you’re going to have to make a decision,” and then I realised that’s how people must see me: A duck paralysed by fear of the wrong decision, about to be hit by a car.

It could be worse; I could be an upside down wombat on the side of the road. Even though those noble fauna of ours are quite decisive, it doesn’t seem to work out so well for them. I’ve seen a lot more upside down wombats than their right side up counterparts. At least as a duck I have options. Stay? Go back? Move forward? Fly away to a distant land?

In most of the decisions I have made with my life, I have chosen to not decide, which unfortunately happens to still be a decision. It’s the realisation that stagnation is a choice which has recently made me more decisive. Plus the Red Queen’s Hypothesis, it takes all the running you can do just to keep in the same place, which then reminds me of that Fallout Boy song This ain’t a scene, it’s an arms race, which then makes me look up misheard lyrics on youtube.

There’s a great quote that goes, ”Good decisions come from experience, and experience comes from bad decisions.” and I’m fairly sure I’ve made enough bad decisions for one lifetime, so I should be set from here on.

So I’ve decided I’m getting better at making decisions. A couple of weeks ago a friend let me pick his tie for work. I was so awesomely decisive in this instance; it was between a grey stripy tie and a blue stripy tie and I picked the blue stripy tie. I sat there feeling quite chuffed with myself, until he mentioned the other blue stripy tie he had.

Why mention the other tie? Was he displeased with my first tie preference? Was the first choice to lull me into a false sense of security so he could catch me off guard with this new choice? Did he just need me to know he has more than two ties? This confused me, I was sure I’d picked right the first time but the knowledge of this extra tie compelled me to completely re-evaluate my original choice, so this brought the grey tie back into consideration and now I had three ties to choose from. So I sat there internally freaking out, afraid of picking any tie in case it was the wrong one.

In the end the first tie I chose was the one he wore that day. I think he just needed me to know he has more than two ties.

That can happen.

But I did feel a bit like a duck in the middle of the road, questioning my own judgement.

I find it weird that other people are letting me pick out clothes for them. I volunteer at the Salvos where they affectionately call me “dummy girl” not just because I’m ditzy. I dress the mannequins there and while I love choosing each outfit for them, it’s a painstakingly laborious process. I personally have next to no fashion sense and tend to dress like I’m five years old, but these mannequins are supposedly the opposite. It takes about a day and all my knowledge of colour theory to get the front window display looking okay, and even then I feel a bit like the other volunteers are thinking, “really?”

But as long as they’re just thinking it I don’t really mind. When it comes to criticism I’m more like water off a dry sponge than water off a duck’s back.

This makes me wish I was just the duck’s back rather than the whole worrisome duck.