Today's writing

“But it’s true,” he says now. “I’m not saying you don’t make choices. I’m saying you don’t make the right ones.”

“Is that right?” I say it as my father says it: less question than statement. Is that right means my eyes are narrowing and my mind is a sliver, unwilling to accept anything this person has to say. The words come through an angry mouth, its corners quivering with denial and distrust.

Disagreements with David scare the crap out of me. He doesn’t back down. He isn’t swayed by emotional argument or passionate appeal. Worst of all, he’s often right.

“Look,” he says, “a decision isn’t the same as a choice. You can decide up, down and sideways, right and left. You can decide six different items on a menu. You really want to eat them all?”

“Your point?”

“You make decisions, not choices. Decisions mean you’re looking at the map and pointing. Choices mean you pick a place and get there.”