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Photo courtesy rhondapalooza via Flickr

I’ve recently been living in the woods in northeast Pennsylvania, an area with sporadic internet access, no TV, and very little to do other than develop oneself intellectually and emotionally through a process of deep self-reflection.  Which I refuse to do.  Instead, I paint houses and go for hikes and partake in other vaguely outdoorsy activities.  There’s not much room for tough choices in this environment.

I drove to New York City one weekend to mix things up, expecting a refreshing change of pace to clear my head.  What I actually found was a drug-addict-esque relapse feeling: my drug is choice.

As soon as I arrived, the dopamine started firing in my brain and I became intensely wired with by the prospect of constant action. What followed was a relatively sleepless potpourri-type weekend that mostly involved simultaneously chasing what seemed like a thousand different entertainment possibilities.

It was fun, sure.  But by the time I was ready to leave, I felt as if I actually had been on a Neal Cassidy binge for a few days.  My body and mind sapped of energy, I eagerly awaited my return to the rehab of the woods.

And that’s what choice often turns out to be: a drug.  Wildly appealing and capable of seemingly impossible effects on psyche and mood at the beginning, drugs—and excessive choice—end up wearing you down and stealing at least a part of your soul. Is there an AA for Choice? Because I’m sure some people could use some help.

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