Recognising Instinct.

I wrote an e-mail to somebody in the early hours of this morning, and then sat and deliberated whether I should send it. (Actually, I went for a pee and deliberated whether I should send it.)

My mind was adamant. ‘You mustn’t send this. It will cause you further difficulty. Haven’t you had enough already? Don’t send it.’

The rest of me wanted to send it, but in the end the mind won. I was sure the mind was right (still am, about the prospect of it causing me difficulty.) I hit ‘delete.’

As soon as I did so, I felt a sickening sense of failure. It was part conviction of cowardice, and part the sense of having been wrong in not following my instinct. Was it instinct, though? I don’t know. But the moment was gone, and I never go back.

What do you do in that situation?

You make a choice and then forget about it, that's what you do, because there really is no such thing as the road not travelled. Unless you count parallel universes, which would be pointless because you can only live in one.

(I was going to go on about parallel universes and other versions of me having different lives, but it got really complicated. I'll save that one for a book in my next life - in this universe. See what I mean?)