That dreaded question. What do you want for dinner?
The question has many variations. But they all require the same thing. A response. A decision has to be made.
Sometimes we care about the answer. Sometimes we don’t. More often, we care, but we don’t actually know what we want until someone else starts making some choices. Then at least we know what we don’t want.
It sounds so easy. And yet it’s not, just like many of the other decisions we face.
Let’s explore what’s at the heart of the dilemma.
Imagine walking into a restaurant you’ve heard good things about. You’ve been looking forward to trying it for a while now.
You’re seated, and the wait staff approaches you. They are carrying what appears to be a menu. They hand it to you with a smile.
But you’re not sure what to say to them. The menu is blank.
Your first thought will be that they’ve made a mistake. Surely they have given you the wrong menu.
But when you ask the question, you’re answered with another smile and told that there isn’t a menu.
And then they ask a question of you:
What can the chef make for you today?
Now, before you fully settle into that scene, imagine with me a different restaurant.
This one will bring a very different experience. In fact, quite the opposite.
As you’re shown to your seat, just as before, the wait staff approaches with the menu. But this menu is very extensive. You’re going to need those pesky reading glasses!
But then, you’re surprised when what you hear next is this as you open the menu.
You should know that no substitutions or changes are allowed. I’ll be back shortly to take your order.
Two different starting points. Neither leads to the meal you were hoping for.
We face these extremes more often than we realize, and the result is usually the same for both.
The paralysis of infinite possibility and the resentment of no choice at all usually mean no decision gets made.
The restaurant (and life) we actually want is neither of those two.
What we want is a thoughtful menu. Curated. Intentional. Enough choice to feel like ourselves, enough structure to make the choosing possible.
That kind of menu is the curated life made tangible.
If you’re like me, and judging from your responses last week, you are, when the waiter asked “What can the chef prepare for you?” — that moment of unexpected openness — you recognize that’s the moment you’re in right now.
With so many options, how can you choose?
The question is genuinely open, and it seems that we’re not quite prepared for it.
The confusion and frustration we feel in this moment are genuine. It’s the gap between having been handed restrictive menus our whole lives and suddenly being invited to actually choose.
Some time ago, a book caught my attention because of its title: I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was: How to Discover What You Really Want and How to Get It.
It was written by the late Barbara Sher. I went on to read several of her books, and they all pointed me in a direction very different from what I had been told most of my life.
The advice had always been to choose your work based on what you were good at and that the market valued. The pressing question at that time in my life was not about what I wanted. It was about what the market wanted. Not a bad question, just not the right first question.
Her insights helped me to shift my approach. I began thinking not just about what I knew how to do, but also about what I was willing and wanted to learn.
Unfortunately, though, over time, because of the pressures of life, I drifted away from that strategy. Now I’ve found myself back here again.
Once again, staking my claim in what I want.
I want to write about ideas and subjects that matter and can make a difference.
It took me longer to say that out loud than I care to admit.
But now I have said it.
Saying it didn’t make the whole path clear. But it made finding the path possible. And the moment I said it, the real work began — which is also where you may find yourself right now.
The Logical Next Step
What I have found is that the moment after we make that initial choice and declaration can be rather disorienting.
The logical next step may not be the best one. We’re carrying layers of thoughts, feelings, and influences that may still be blocking the way.
The real first step is almost always something internal.
In addition to all of that, the times we’re living in have a way of making even a clear direction feel suddenly uncertain.
You name what you want, and then the ground shifts. That’s also not a personal failure — that’s the actual terrain.
What’s important is to be cautious while also remaining curious.
It seems paradoxical at times, but it is true that we won’t know with certainty until we take the first step, and then each step after that.
Sometimes We Need to Make Space
Which leads us to the next part of getting started.
Sometimes what you stop doing matters as much (if not more) than what you start.
While I do advocate for plenty of white space in everything we do, I’m not a big fan of blank slates. There is richness in our experience and history that we should protect.
But not everything needs to stay. At least not on display.
What we usually find is that once our next direction is clear, something almost always has to be released.
That’s the lesson we’ve learned from gardening. The best gardeners know what to prune.
If this is where you find yourself in the decision path, Dr. Henry Cloud’s work in Necessary Endings can be invaluable.
It’s about first knowing and then making space.
Where the First Step Lives
If you’ve been with me for a while, you know that I’m an advocate of divergent thinking, questioning our choices before we rush into a decision. That’s true here as well. And that’s why this next part is important.
We must interrogate the question before we answer it.
Because it’s also possible that if we don’t know what we want, we’ll just keep reaching for more. The list of what we want can become overwhelming. Especially when we are examining every part of who we are and how we want to show up in the world.
The answer to that is discovering what’s actually underneath those wants.
Sometimes, the better counter-question to “what do you want to do?” is “how do you want to feel?”
Because almost always, there’s a common root.
Finding that root is where the first step lives.
The key to finding it is knowing that it’s not even on the list. It’s below it.
Here’s an exercise you can do to discover it.
Choose your top five things that you want to consider.
Write each one on the front side of a 3 x 5 card.
Now imagine you’ve accomplished each one. Stand in that moment.
How do you feel?
Write that on the back of the card.
Quite often, those answers are all going to be similar, if not the same.
That’s where your first step is found. Knowing how you want to feel is your first step.
In the meantime, remember that it’s not just that the first step is hard.
It’s that we arrive at the question of what we want, still carrying contradictory burdens simultaneously.
We were handed a script we didn’t write.
We were told the sky was the limit.
And then we were handed an infinite menu with no guidance on how to order.
The resulting confusion is not a personal failure or a lack of imagination or courage. That’s a genuinely difficult condition to navigate.
If you are still struggling, then start here:
- When you get up each morning, how do you want to feel?
- When you end each day, how do you want to feel?
- What are you doing now that brings you that feeling?
Remember that this is about what you truly want.
Not what you think you should want.
Not what others expect.
Just what is true.
