I’m up in the air, choices drifting by me everywhere. And I can’t find the one that would help me do the work I’ve left undone, ‘cause I’m up in the air. I’m making some plans, finding out there’s always new demands. And I can’t be precise; when people ask me what I’m doing with my life, I say, “It’s up in the air.”

I am constantly in flux. I never really know what to do or what’s next. But make no mistake, that’s not because I like to err somewhere along the edge of caution. There really isn’t a spontaneous or dangerous (or even slightly exciting) bone in my body. No, I’m just always confused. Confused, lost, scared of risks. 

In psychology, we’ve discussed the “paradox of choice.” The more choices one has, the less free they really are. The more distressed they become. The more unhappy they become. Ironic, huh? Still, isn’t this the truth, or what? Well, I must admit to myself that I know what I want. Really, I do. But it’s the riskier option and I hate taking risks. This is driving me nuts - I wish I had no options, really, so I had no decisions to make. I make a choice, then backtrack just hours later. Second-guess whatever I’ve decided. Decision making is difficult and, recently, all that I focus on. I accomplish literally nothing on a daily basis, but stressing. And stressing. And stressing.

I’d say those lyrics are pretty accurate at the moment.