I cannot see what my future holds. All I know is this: muffled yet clearly aggravated voices drifting to me from my left, worn wooden planks covered in rough, scattered sand under my bare feet, and the disarray of papers spread in front of me on a green-tinged glass coffee table. This porch is usually my favorite haven of equanimity in the pandemonium that is my life. Today, though, I find I can’t escape from the constant buzz of anxiety dwelling in my head, and neither can I evade the overwhelming indecision one of my favorite singers once likened to a wide and unwavering ocean. I flounder in its depths, held captive as the pressure snaps my wings and crushes my lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“In ten seconds, you are going to make this decision.” I whisper to myself. I gather my courage and count to ten before opening my eyes.

I can’t do this, my mind promptly screams. I’d love another day, another month, and another eternity to make this decision. There’s that word again. Decision. It seems like life is full of decisions and indecisions, even the tiniest, seemingly insignificant ones leading to a different path and an alternate future. The worst of it all is that I know I’d be perfectly content with either option had it come alone, but with both I can only feel as if I’m trapped by my desire for the best of everything. This is all of my dreams come true at the same time, and it’s smothering me.

My eyes wander down to the papers nearest me. Acceptance letters from multiple universities lie scattered across the table, the endless black-and-white print causing my eyes to temporarily lose focus. My world blurs, and then I blink and it comes back as clear as ever. Only two letters of these many actually matter, that I do know.
Nearly everyone I grew up with applied at the local school only minutes away from the beach, where I’ll study marine biology if I decide to go. Yet there’s also the aeronautical school I’ve had my eye on since I began high school, when I first realized I was infatuated with all things flight. These futures rest in two boats soon to separate and I can’t keep one foot in each any longer without falling into the ocean and being left in their wake.
“You can’t have the best of both worlds, Bridget,” I recall being told over the phone by an older friend who left for college a few years ago.
“I know.” I replied. “But I still can’t bring myself to choose between staying with friends I consider closer than family and following my dreams. I want the best of both worlds.”
I had frowned then, thinking of the way my circle of friends has been through everything with me- they know me better than I know myself, and in their absence I think I might lose who I am. After all, who could weigh love against an opportunity that only comes once? Now, as I sit here, I can’t help but think of my parents’ reactions when I told them about my multiple acceptances. I thought it was good news at first, and that they’d at least be happy for me, but then this happened:
“Do whatever. Go wherever. I don’t care.” My dad had waved a tired hand, staring up at me through bloodshot eyes. His words sent a little pang to my heart, but I tried to ignore it. He worked too hard to support us, and I told myself to be thankful we could even afford to send me to college because of him.
My mom jumped up in protest. “No, just go to the local school so you can live at home and we won’t have to worry about paying for board-“she said, but my dad was already cutting her off. I remember sighing in dismay: I could feel the imminent argument casting a looming shadow over our kitchen like a fast-moving storm cloud blown in by the wind.
“Don’t tell her what to do. This is her decision, and she deserves to make it.” He snapped at my mom. I shrank into my chair. I wished I could take my words back.
She huffed and began clearing plates off the table, the sounds of china colliding in her hands accompanying her next words. “What about me? I deserve a say in her future, too. I’m her mother.”
“You just made this about the money, and it’s not about the money! It’s about what Bridget wants, not just what’s easier.”
Before long, they’d launched themselves into another full-scale monsoon of an argument and, as usual, I easily left unnoticed in the midst of it.
Raised voices reach me, penetrating through the outer walls of our house, and I’m jolted back to my present dilemma.
I still want to avoid this decision.
So I do the only thing I can, the only thing I know how to do. I grab the nearest sheet of important-looking paperwork and, on an impulse, fold it into a simple airplane. I launch it with a practiced hand off my porch. A salty breeze stirs my hair and I know I will regret this later, but in this moment all I do is crane my neck and watch the airplane soar over the neighbor’s fence and out of sight. I envision myself strapped to its wings, flying over the sea and away from this life. My head breaks through the clouds, and I lose sight of the crashing waves. For a brief moment, I’m nothing if not absolutely, impossibly free.
Then the moment is shattered by another round of yelling from inside the house. I find myself surrounded by a scattered abundance of papers once again, yet I am strangely calm. I still do not know what my future holds. But now I’m certain that I will be all right.