This post was written in 2015 and edited in 2019 for clarity.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
I haven’t read The Bell Jar.
But I have watched Master of None. The Netflix series stars Aziz Ansari as an idealistic, yet indecisive and silly actor (sound familiar?). In the finale, Aziz reads this excerpt from The Bell Jar after being told off by his Dad.
“You need to learn how to make a decision,” says his father.
The episode does a stellar job of showing 20s something Dev’s (Aziz’s character) indecisive nature. For instance, he browses Yelp for New York’s best taco. When given other taco options, he says he can’t eat the second best taco, “like an asshole”. Unless he’s confident he has the best possible option, he struggles with making a choice.
I’m not great at decisions, either. Mediocrity scares me. Like Dev, I want certainty. I also don’t want to eat New York’s second best taco, “like an asshole”.
But we’re all of kind of assholes, right? We’re all selfish. We’re all constantly looking for better options, and thanks to our on-demand society, we have unlimited ones.
Case and point, I started online dating a few weeks ago. I wasn’t proud of it. However, after an embarrassing long streak of bad luck with men, I figured I had nothing to lose.
Talk about options.
I went out with a handful of guys. I expected it to be a nightmare, for them to be strange or off-putting.
But I was wrong. They were all nice, polite, good-looking and interesting.
They held doors open for me. They bought me drinks. They listened to my stories about love, adventure, and travel, and asked questions about it.
It restored my faith in love, but in the end, I didn’t feel right about it. Not because they were lacking in substance or character, but that was just it — I had too many options. I couldn’t decide, and because of that, I didn’t want to.
From every conversation came branches. Every tip, of each of those branches, promised happiness and adventure. A nice, polite, good-looking and interesting partner. But also, the realization that what I was looking for couldn’t be found at the bottom of a beer and flirty banter.
Because at the end of every date, I retreated into myself. Into a safe place where I visited myself in Paris, where I was living as a poet. Where I spent days wandering around markets and evenings with a stereotypical French lover.
Other times, I found myself in a cramped, hot apartment in Bali. Awkwardly riding my well-used scooter to school, where I taught English to children. They painted pictures for me and made fun of my American accent.
I hiked near Mt. Hood, walking my German Shepard Walter, with only the sound of snapping twigs beneath my heavy boots. I was organizing my favorite travel books on the shelves of my tiny shop in Asheville. I went to graduate school in Boise, meeting friends out at a local bar once a week for shitty beer. I was rocking a Claire Underwood haircut and taking pictures in Seattle.
I was a comedy writer living in Queens. I was painting abstract pieces in Budapest. I was curled up in a chair, in the corner of my studio over Port City Java in downtown Wilmington. Or, I was simply continuing a solitary, but fulfilling life here in Durham amongst friends and family.
“I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest.”
It’s not as silly or indulgent as it sounds. Greater than any love for someone else, or somewhere else, is the unconditional love I have for myself. It’s my stubbornness to protect the heart of a girl who shakily walked onto a plane bound for Reykjavik, Iceland.
I only had a backpack and vague promise of a fulfilled dream to sustain me. Somehow, that was enough, and although in many ways, I have less as I did then, it still is.
Promise. Opportunity. Potential for more than just the second best taco.
I have the bravery to wait for it, with the knowledge that I may be a fool for doing so. I have the strength to continue to put honest, sincere effort into the life I’m in. It’s my hope that one of those imagined places, people, or scenarios longs for me, too.
I honestly don’t know if I liked the Master of None season one finale. But I loved what Aziz said about choices. I love how that Sylvia Plath quote, in his voice, echoed within me and shook up my soul.
It reminded me that the confidence I have in my intuition. It reminded me of my ambition. It brought me back to myself. Just like that.