neither here nor there

It's that time again.

 

No, I'm not talking about the commercial extravaganza masquerading as a religious holiday.  I'm talking about the recurring moments in life when I'm steps away from making a decision that would require some sort of longish-term commitment.  Something about these decisions - even ones as minor as signing a one-year lease - sets off five-alarm panics and makes me want to run for the hills.  

 

The problem - my problem - with commitments is that they eliminate options.  And the option that I most fear losing is the option to go, to leave here and be there.  Because the grass is always greener there.  Sure enough, a couple of days after I moved into my new place, I learned that another unit is available for the same price in the same building.  That unit has a ceiling fan and a newer refrigerator.  I bet it gets better light, is adjacent to quieter neighbors and comes with magical fairies who would do the dishes and the laundry while I'm at work. 

 

The problem with my problem with commitment is that life can't be lived in limbo.  The only way to keep all options open is to do absolutely nothing, to never settle into a community or invest in relationships, to always be merely physically present but mentally and emotionally absent from my present circumstances.  I could entertain all of my options in theory or actually exercise a few of them in reality; surely the latter is the only rational option.  And surely I am too old to still be itching for instability. 

 

As a few panic-inducing decisions loom the near future, I resort to the method that has served me adequately in the recent past: take some deep breaths, let my rational side take over long enough to make the necessary decision, then yield to my emotional side for an extended period of melodramatic mourning over the death of freedom and all that I hold dear.