Decision fatigue and things like that

The human heart contains four valves that act as one-
way doors, each opening and closing forcing steady

onward flow. Hello, goodbye,
hello, goodbye, hello, goodbye, hello...

This summer it feels as if my heart has shattered one-
hundred times, then pulled itself together again and 

again and perhaps that's just life pushing me forward
and closing the door, ensuring I take the next step

without looking back, without turning
into a pillar of salt. Hello, goodbye, 

hello, goodbye, hello, goodbye,

hello. 

"It is estimated that an American adult makes 35,000 decisions a day," so say Pignatiello et al (2020), all of whom hold a lot of letters after their names (BSN, RN, PhD, DNP, MBA, RN, CFP, ACNP-BC, FNAP, FAAN, Associate Prof.) and yet still somehow thought that hinging the basis of their scientific article on a claim made by the "creative director at an ad agency" (Sollisch, 2016) was a good idea. 

Don't get me wrong! 

I use non-academic sources in my scholarly writing all the time. And there's nothing wrong with being the creative director at an ad agency (in fact, I think that's great). Sollisch's article isn't bad, either! In fact, I quite appreciate the ending where he says:

People think they hate boxes, but it’s in boxes that the creative process thrives. In a tight box, the will is not drained by too much decision-making. You are free to find the unexpected, to focus on what matters.

Having data feels like power. Having choices feels like freedom. Sometimes having both is having neither.

Sometimes when I have severe writer's block I will sit down to write a sonnet or something else with a very prescribed form because having to fit whatever I'm trying to say into established parameters somehow unlocks creativity that I couldn't access without those constraints in place. (This also reminded me of the talk I gave in church last year about how God's commandments are intended to help, not hinder, us). 

So I get that. 

But, like, where'd that 35,000 number come from?

It's intriguing! 

An impressive number, to be sure, but "by some estimates" isn't exactly citing your sources. I want to know who is doing the estimating (and I would hope that someone writing a scientific article about decision fatigue would also have done a little more legwork to discover where that 35,000 number came from...because it kinda seems to come from nowhere, which is fine for an essay by a creative director but a little less fine for an academic paper by specialists-in-their-field). 

But I digress. 

I think, actually, that I'm suffering from decision fatigue. And, like, I don't know how many decisions we're making a day right now...but it is a lot more than usual. 

Do we keep this? Do we keep that?

Do we take this on the plane? Do we send it on the boat?

If we send this on the boat, what will we do in the meantime?

Do they sell this in Qatar? Should I throw it away? Give it away?

Do I find someone to take it on the Buy Nothing Group? Do I just take it to Goodwill?

If I throw this away will the children resent me? Will they even find out? Do they even care?

It's a lot. Today we got rid of a lot of craft stuff, stuff that we took from Karen's collection when she passed away. Sure, we used some of the stuff we took, but we had a lot, and today we had to admit that we weren't going to use the bulk of that stuff in Qatar (or that they would have such supplies available for purchase should we need, like, popsicle sticks or glue guns or whatever).

And that was a little bit hard. I felt those little pinches in my heart, like maybe it was breaking. Or maybe it was just the pressure changing in my heart chambers, encouraging me to move forward, to go with the flow. 

The other night Rachel and I were supposed to be staying up late organizing the stuff we're sending out to Utah (we're sending stuff out to Utah as well). We don't want to send too much stuff. We want to send the right stuff, the useful stuff, the meaningful stuff. And I wanted it to be all organized and ready to go by the time Rachel left...but that didn't happen. 

Andrew went to bed because he's been teaching an online seminar thing (at 6:00 am) the past several weeks. Rachel and I stayed up to work on the Utah stuff but instead we got sucked into a bin full of Karen's journals. 

We read the letters Grandpa left on her desk at work that were "strictly business" but were really him trying to get out the words, "I love you." We read about their engagement, her hopes for the future, that she wanted her words down on paper so that her children could one day understand her. 

We picked the lock on a journal she bequeathed to her friend Terri (who would understand, should she die before she finished writing it), in which she gushed about being gifted her first pair of pantyhose (and noted the day her younger sister Susan was given the same honour a few years later), bemoaned her unrequited love(s), chronicled family vacations, and tallied up how many hours she slept and worked and studied. 

We didn't get to any other boxes that night. But we decided that, yes, that box should be kept. It will be moving forward. Perhaps Rachel will pull it out when she's working on a family history class one day (I have a hunch she won't stop taking those) and she'll be able to digitize it for us (if not, perhaps a summer project one of these years). So we packed that box back up and then said goodnight for the very last time in this house. 

Hello, goodbye. My heart, my heart.

(Here are some pictures of the kids saying their last "good night" to Rachel; they weren't very sad yet because...she was still around most of the day the next day...just gone before bedtime):

In the few hours in which I had all my children under the same roof, we took one last family walk around the block. We took pictures by our neighbourhood sign (which I will post later) and some just on our street so we can remember the trees and how green things can be before we move to the desert:

Here's a second picture that I...just liked...because of the sunbeams by the clouds (and the kids on the ground, too, I suppose):

And here are our very last goodbyes before Rachel left for Utah (shortly after she picked up Miriam from YW camp for us because we were doing swim practice duty and/or teaching that seminar I was talking about):

Miriam was acting annoyed because they often do that in pictures (and she'll see Rachel in Utah next month).

For example, see this picture of those two at a wedding in 2010:

At Mount Rushmore in 2011 and 2023:

It's just a bit that they do...they really do love each other...I promise...

On this trip, people kept commenting on how much Zoë and Rachel look alike, with Zoë being just a blonde version of Rachel, so we had to get a picture of their faces side by side. We'll see if they keep looking alike through the years:

And here's me with Rachel:

And Andrew with Rachel:

We'll miss her, but she's already doing so many fun things. For example, she held a chicken today.

I didn't get to hold a chicken today, but I did get to hold a baby (Rosie's baby—but that's a story for another blogpost)!

That may seem off topic, but the baby is one of the many hello, goodbye moments that is hurting my heart so this summer, so he's really right on point! 

I was actually holding him while saying goodbye to everyone (including Zoë, who is going up to Tennessee to be a mother's helper for the week) and simply...forgot...that I was holding him, so at the door Austin was like, "Uhhhh..." and held out his arms and it actually took me a second to realize what it was that Austin was after. 

"Oh—you want the baby!" 

"It...would be nice...yeah..." Austin said. 

Well, excuse me! I was in my happy place. 

But I let them take their baby home with them (aren't I generous?).

They tell me Rachel didn't get to keep the chicken, either.

Rachel says, she's "working on my fear of roosters pecking my head into a nub" (a fear etched deeply on her soul from reading Junie B. Jones Has a Peep in Her Pocket back in the day). 

We're all making great strides forwards, it seems, one decision at a time...