Drobisz’s Decision.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?”

“I don’t know what to do?”

“Which ones to choose?”

“Ok. Here’s what you should do…”

I’m in a classroom. It’s a cold morning in March. In London. I’m about to make the biggest decision of my life. And, I still have no idea what to do. Or how I am ever going to choose.

I have crippling anxiety. Loose guts tied in knots, juxtaposed a constipation of caustic caring. Intrusive, unhelpful thoughts. And, so many feelings.

I’m 15. With one job. To choose. But I can’t. I don’t know how to and I’m terrified of getting it wrong. Because I feel I always do. Or will.

I give up trying to work it out. I defer the most important decision of my life to date to my Business Studies teacher. Who, don’t get me wrong, I like and respect a lot. But barely know.

It is now up to him to choose.

My A levels.

Along with my future.

My defection became Mr. Drobisz’s decision: Economics, Sociology. Business Studies. He spoke 4 words determining 3 subjects over 2 years and 1 thing happened:

I panicked. I knew what he thought I should do was not right for me. At all.

But I did it. Anyway.

I trusted a strangers knowing what’s best for me, over my own.

Even though I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Would have loved to do more than anything. And then spent the next 731 days berating and belittling myself for not.

But I didn’t. Anyway.

I despised Economics. It made little sense to me. Sociology was an obvious choice but wasted on the inexperience and immaturity of my youth. And Business Studies - well, a chef’s kiss dream. I excelled at it and would have chosen it myself.

Because, all I ever wanted. My entire life. Was to write. Be immersed within the English language and its literature. And I could have. I should have. I was desperate to.

But I didn’t. Anyway.

Making decisions was impossibly hard for me. I lived my life to honour and please you. Even Mr. Drobisz. Choosing his subjects believing it was disloyal, disrespectful. Rude. To ask his advice and then not take it.

I spent 104 weeks and 3 days in deep remorse, regret and a morose envy. Spying on friends with weathered copies of A Street Car Named Desire and Much Ado About Nothing. The tragedy and heartbreak contained in both Williams’ classics were close to my own.

Today, both books are on my bookshelf and ‘to read’ list. Unread. Unchecked. To be continued.

Mr. Drobisz taught me every decision you hand over is a chapter prematurely ended. Every time you ask, "what should I do?" you're not choosing your own adventure, but that of another.

It's never too late to choose again. I have. 50, building a business. Finally writing. Daily. Fearlessly. Not economics papers or sociology essays…

My words. My truth. My story.

So, ask yourself: what will be the moral of your next story? Will you be the hero or the victim? The author or understudy? The one who chose or the one who asked?

The real tragedy isn't choosing wrong. It's not choosing at all. And happily ever after is rarely something that happens to you.

It's something you choose.

So, stop asking for permission to write your very own story.

Go write it. Anyway.

H2BH 023/365