Why you can never be certain until you’ve already decided

A path forking in two directions through woodland.

Michelle leans forward onto her hands and knees and inspects the fruit of her entire evening’s labour. Her decision tree, written on a large piece of paper spread out on her living room floor, is finally complete. Not one for drawing, least of all flow charts,  she had been encouraged to try this as an experiment by her good friend Angela to see if it might help her decide whether or not to end her relationship with Jonathan. 

Deep down, she suspected that she ought to end it. For several years now, she had felt deeply unsatisfied and didn’t believe she was getting many of her most basic needs met. Nevertheless, as she would frequently tell herself, it could be a lot worse. He may well ignore me for days after our arguments but at least he remembers my birthday . . . . sometimes. 

As she looked at the decision tree, Michelle let out a loud sigh. There were beautifully drawn boxes pointing towards further boxes and elegantly drawn arrows going in all directions and within each box, reasons to either stay in the relationship or to go. But even as she glanced at it, she realised that she was no nearer being able to decide. 

It seemed as if every reason she could find to leave was miraculously countered by a good reason to stay. Finally, a slight smile broke out on her face as she contemplated the funny side of her situation. Did you really think you were going to be able to think your way out of this so easily? 

The idea that she could think her way out of this was the seductive thought which enabled her to kick the ball further down the road. That was the pay off.  

“The idea that she could think her way out of this was the seductive thought which enabled her to kick the ball further down the road. That was the pay off. ”

Burdened with the responsibility of having to make a major decision, perhaps even a life changing one, we prefer not to act until we have gathered together sufficient evidence to support our decision. A problem with this strategy, however, is that sometimes it seems that no number of facts about the matter ever really gives us the certainty that we are craving. 

If only I could know with a high degree of certainty that I’m making the right choice, then I’d be able to act. Let’s give it just a bit longer to decide we tell ourselves. I’ll analyse things further, ponder my options, see what I feel makes the most logical sense and then I’ll act. 

The certainty we crave, however, seems elusive to us, just out of reach and inevitably we can feel disappointed with ourselves for not being smart enough to figure it out. 

But what if our inability to achieve the necessary clarity is not in fact a personal shortcoming at all, rather something that’s actually baked into the fabric of existence itself. 

It’s 1840 and in a prosperous middle-class neighbourhood in Copenhagen sits a young man, head in hands, deep in thought as he ponders his life situation. 

Several months ago, he had plucked up the courage to propose to a young lady called Regina Olsen who he was very much in love with. He had gone to visit her father to ask for her hand in marriage and to his absolute delight, he had said yes. 

And yet, only a matter of months later, much to his bewilderment he was having serious reservations about the impending marriage, so much so that he was in two minds whether to call off the engagement or not. 

The more he thought about it, the more troubling it all became. For the longest time, he had been deeply in love with her. He was, to the best of his knowledge, still deeply in love with her. Yet the prospect of marriage, something that at one stage felt like the greatest of all his ambitions, he was now beginning to contemplate with considerable dread. 

This feeling would not go away and gradually, over a period of time, he began to understand why. Marriage would be  a pivotal moment in his life. It represented what would be a commitment to a thoroughly conventional life. One in which he would be expected to provide for his wife and potential family. Of course, he was more than capable of doing this and in all likelihood, he would choose to be a pastor at a church in Copenhagen. 

The problem with this however, was that it would make it extremely difficult for him to incorporate an altogether different way of life, one which he was feeling increasingly drawn towards with something akin to a passion. This life would be a solitary one. He would live off an inheritance from his father which would enable him to support himself financially while he wrote books of a literary and philosophical nature. 

As the months went by, he understood that what he really wanted was to live the life of a writer and therefore, he concluded that he would not be able to marry Regina and would have to call off the engagement; a process that would subsequently cause not just himself, but Regina and her entire family an enormous amount of suffering and grief. 

The decision proved to be a fateful one since breaking off the engagement resulted in the writing of many philosophical books which are still read to this very day. The man in question, Soren Kierkegaard. 

It’s 1843 and the young Soren is already a published author working at breakneck speed as philosophically inspired ideas spill out of him at an almost faster rate than he can get them down on paper. 

One day, after a prolonged burst of writing, he gets up, puts on his coat and hat, and strides out into the fresh Copenhagen air for his daily walk around the city. Deep in thought, he ponders yet again, why he had been unable to realise that he didn’t actually want to marry Regina until after he had asked for her hand in marriage. 

And then it dawns on him that he might in fact have been thinking about this all wrong. How could I have ever been absolutely certain I was making the right decision when the very choice itself changed so dramatically the landscape of my life. The inability he realised to know for sure that he didn’t actually want to marry Regina remained obscured from him, permanently outside his awareness or understanding until the question was asked. 

“How could I have ever been absolutely certain I was making the right decision when the very choice itself changed so dramatically the landscape of my life. ”

This realisation more or less took his breath away. It seems to me perhaps that I’m only really able to see things crystal clear when I look back on events that have passed. 

This means I can never have the certainty I would like as I live my life in real time and perhaps that’s okay. Perhaps the most important thing is to make a choice and at least do something and trust that in doing so, something new will be disclosed for me to contemplate. 

With that, Kierkegaard picked up his pen and searched for his journal, keen to write all of this down while still feeling inspired. This was one insight he was determined not to lose sight of. 

Six months have passed since Michelle sat on her living room floor with her decision tree. She holds a warm cup of coffee up to her lips and takes a sip. She’s struggling with a wide range of emotions and has been for a month or so. Perhaps more than anything else, she is feeling anxious about her current situation and a little unsure what to do next.    

But she has left Jonathan. Not because of any decision tree. As it turns out looking back on it, it never came down to a clear yes or no decision. They had had one of their regular arguments and after twenty-four hours of being given the silent treatment, Michelle had decided to take herself off to a friend’s place for a couple of nights to regroup. Only while she was there did it occur to her that she couldn’t go back. Two nights became a week and then a month and her resolve is holding firm. 

“As it turns out looking back on it, it never came down to a clear yes or no decision.”

There is a huge amount to have to deal with and the future seems very uncertain at the moment. But it feels like a new start and mixed in with the apprehension and periodic moments of anxiety, there is also a groundswell of excitement slowly building as well. Excitement at the possibilities yet to be discovered and for a future ready to be shaped. 

Richard Swynnerton

Existential Therapist and Counsellor, High Barnet

If you are finding yourself unable to act even when you know it’s the right thing to do and this indecision is creating difficulties for you, then please get in touch to arrange an initial session.

If you'd like to learn more about my approach to anxiety, you can read about it on my anxiety speciality page.