Someone said something once about taking the road less traveled. The implication of that statement is the existence of at least two roads, one generously populated with regular folk and the other reserved more for the innovative, bushwhackin’ type who know what they want and how to get it. I’ve been looking for directions to this particular road for a long time, but by virtue of it being less traveled, I haven’t had much luck in pinning down a reliable map.
Where am I, then? Since I am without a map to Mr. Frost’s idealized road, I believe I have stalled smack dab in the middle of the well known and somewhat negatively connoted “middle road”; this path is characterized by indecisiveness, hesitancy, the ability to see endless possibilities in all choices, and the need to evaluate each of those possibilities beyond all reasonable measure. I’m stuck here because I can’t decide where to go…it’s not that I don’t care about where I end up, it’s just that there are so many choices and everywhere looks appetizing.
(Enter adage about having and eating cake here.)
Characteristic of many middle grounders, I was a girl given to the world sandwiched between the births of two boys. I am a middle child seemingly destined to have moderate political beliefs, an average appearance, skills that are neither outstanding nor awful, and the inability to decide in a timely manner. On anything. Ever.
I mean, obviously I make decisions based on things I want. Just a few hours ago, for example, I wanted a sandwich and decided to buy one. As it usually happens, though, my middleness interfered as soon as it was time to order. (After verbally debating with the menu for a solid two minutes, I still couldn’t pick a sandwich. The Tuscani chicken salad one sounded really nice but so did the grilled chicken and pesto with mozzarella…I’m not sure why this was so hard because it’s only a $5.00 investment, meant purely for my enjoyment. The line behind me kept growing and I got flustered. I then decided it best to employ the “eeny meeny miney mo” technique. Five minutes later I sat down with grilled vegetables on wheat. I don’t even like vegetables.)
My rambling and disconnected thoughts were laid out as groundwork for this thought…will I (or any other middle grounders) grow out of it? Not just the annoyance of picking gross sandwiches, but the tendency to leave our futures up to chance because we spend to much time trying to decide what to do with it. If we keep evaluating each choice endlessly, will we end up anywhere close to where we wanted?
I have no idea. But I’m hungry.
By Morgan K. Moretz