On Life’s Tough Choices

Sometimes we’re forced to decide upon the lesser of two evils.

Sometimes we have to choose to fuck somebody else over or get fucked ourselves.

Nobody likes to make that choice.

But to choose not to decide is usually not a viable option. How do I choose between hurting my friend and hurting myself? How can I make that choice?

Do I leave my friends behind and choose to prioritize my family? Do I leave my family behind to prioritize my career? Or do I just say fuck everything and leave it all behind to pursue a life of mindless pleasure?

Life is full of options. There are 100 different countries to visit. 1000 different career paths to walk down. 10000 different potential partners to settle down with. Where can we even begin in the face of so many choices?

If you clicked this hoping for an answer to any of these questions, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I’m just here to bitch about it.

Seriously though. What am I supposed to do?
Actually, I already know what I’m going to do. I have to choose my career and my family over my friends. Ultimately I’m choosing my career over anything else. Over my family too. I don’t know if I’ll regret it when I’m old and I see my grandchildren leaving me behind the same way. But I also don’t know if I’ll have grandchildren in the first place if I don’t go out and make a place for myself in the world.

It’s all fucked.

I’m tempted to go along with the mantra of our solipsistic generation. Watch out for number one. Be selfish, eat your fucking toast, follow your dream. Fuck you. Most people don’t even have a fucking dream. We’re an entire generation of people who think their bullshit dreams actually matter when every generation before us was raised to understand that 95% of people are never going to fucking matter.

Because they don’t. Not everyone is a special fucking genius snowflake. Not every artist is going to be the next Stephen Fucking King. Most books are absolute shit. Most blogs are absolute shit. Most art is shit. Is that why most people never try in the first place? How is it that we, as the first generation to be raised to selfishly believe that we are capable of anything, how is it that we are the ones who consistently fail to try?

Maybe if we believe we have the potential to be great, we never try. If we try and fuck up miserably (just like we’re all secretly afraid that we will), then we will have to face the fucked up reality that we are actually not so god damn special after all.

So we choose not to choose.
What’s a guy to do, anyway?

Published by:

Jack Wolfe

Jack Wolfe is a writer of short stories, novel(s), and edgy blog posts. His e-mail is jackwolfe.blog@gmail.com. Feel free to contact him with any comments, questions, or death threats.

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