Category: Decisions

We make choices. I hate to say sacrifices. If we truly love this sport and we have these goals and dreams in the sport, the classroom, or in life, they’re not sacrifices. They’re choices that we make to fulfill these goals and dreams.

Deena Kastor Bronze Medalist 2004 Olympics

Years before I heard Kastor speak, I was struck by a comment made by another Olympian. His perspective agreed with Kastor. He believed that athletes made choices, not sacrifices. However, he didn’t discount sacrifices; they were made by his family and friends rather than him.

Along the way, I learned that few—including myself—recognize the sacrifices imposed when dreams are followed. Or when day-to-day choices are made. I am learning to discern whether the decisions that I and others make are sacrifices or choices.

A year has passed since I decided that what I really wanted for my 65th birthday was to work a Christmas puzzle. (See here.)

Sometimes, it’s easy to know what I really want—the ray rather than the shirt. I had been eyeing the plush souvenir for days and made the switch as my husband walked to the cash register. The previous plan was matching Emerald Isle tech shirts.

Other times, it’s not so easy.

My husband and I are searching for our retirement home. We recently toured a one-level brick with spacious bedrooms, a remodeled kitchen, and more importantly, in an excellent location—close to events, lots of woods and an easily maintained large lot. Except, I discovered after the tour that what I thought might be my “dream house” in a “dream location” wasn’t what I really wanted.

What do I really want?

Unlike working a puzzle or buying a souvenir plush ray, this decision has rest-of-my-life consequences.

How do you decide what you really want?

My faithful friend Barb gave me permission to share her experience saying “No.”

“One time I listened to a CD on how to order your home. I listened to it with two friends. At one point they told us to stop the CD and practice saying No and we did. They suggested saying, ‘No, my plate is full.’

“Now I ask my husband to tell me ‘No’ so I can say ‘My husband said no.’ That has helped. But in 2021, I drove my dad and his wife up north from Florida. That caused me to be a horrible driver. I told my husband to remind me the following spring to say No and not offer to drive my dad back up north. My husband replied, ‘I told you not to do it this year.’  I just need to listen to my husband and do what he says.”

Multiple times, I have been told, “The word ‘No’ is a complete sentence.”

If so, why can’t I stop after I say “No?” Why do I talk myself into a “Yes” or follow my “No” with enough loopholes to allow others to turn my “No” into a “Yes?”

A walking buddy once said, “It’s in the 20s.” I offered to walk when the temperature rose. Another time Mary said, “I can’t walk the two-mile loop today.” I suggested our one-mile route. Weeks later, she said, “You never let me be lazy and accept my ‘No’ to walking.” As a literalist, I didn’t realize she was saying “No” to walking.

What am I learning? If I can’t stop at “No,” I should add, “No, that time is scheduled.” Or “No, I am not available.” That is true even if I plan to read or take a nap. A relative said his go-to is “That doesn’t work for me.”

Why is such a little word so hard to say? Guilt? “No” is not a bad word. Our “No” may give another person the opportunity to say “Yes.”