I stand on the edge of the lake, the weathered rocks pressing uncomfortably into my feet. Chilly water laps at the shore, inviting, daring me to join it; voices behind me yell encouragements. I wave my arms as though loosening up in an attempt to buy time: I am ready to jump, but I stand in place, paralyzed.
I often find myself in situations like this, bifurcated into opposing selves who battle each other to a standstill. I have thought through the situation already, perhaps multiple times, and now I am willing to act. Yet some force continues to hold me back with unnatural strength.
It adapts itself to all sorts of situations, from somewhat risky but enjoyable activities, to projects I want to work on, to difficult tasks in lab. I know that I want and possibly must do it, and that I will feel incredible having completed it—and still the immobility remains. I frequently will engage in a holding pattern around this state until la hora cero has passed. A missed opportunity, yes, but at last freedom from the clutches of indecision.
It begins with the scenarios: What if I trip at the last moment and fall onto the rocks instead of the water? What if the water is too shallow? What if I became a quadriplegic because of what I am about to do right now? If I’m near a computer, it manifests as a compulsion to check Google Reader, Twitter, or even Facebook despite having satisfied my interest only minutes prior. When those have been vanquished (at the expense of considerable mental effort), what remains is not victory but a raw, filleted inertial force insisting “no” in a tortured rasp, as unrelenting as it is irrational.
I don’t know if it’s possible to win these conflicts. The best I have been able to achieve so far has been to work around them, attempting to circumnavigate the fight through trickery. These strategies have taken the form of switching between projects when I feel the inertia beginning to build, committing myself to something (such as a camping trip), or merely thinking about something else for a few minutes rather than allow myself to get lost in an hours-long distraction spree. Perhaps it will become easier with practice.
I walked away from the water, back to where it was partially obscured by the trees. I thought of all the ways following through with my action would score personal victory points. Abruptly, I interrupted my contemplation and began running. My heart pounding, I saw the blue water rapidly approaching, but it was too late to abort. I plunged into the icy depths, surfacing a few moments later with a jubilant shout that, for me, was laden with significance.
Photographs by Andrew Crofton.