Why choosing—even through doubt and fear—is the foundation of a meaningful life.

“I don’t know yet,” my high school senior said last night when I asked which college he has chosen. College Decision Day is May 1. He’s got two days to decide.

The college “List” is still taped to our kitchen cabinet. My husband carefully crafted the spreadsheet back in October after the final application was submitted. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief. The hard part—writing essays, collecting recommendations, submitting test scores—was done. My son was eager to shift his focus back to senior year and his football season.

But we quickly realized something: applying was only part one. And it wasn’t necessarily the hardest part.

As college acceptances trickled and filled his inbox, his excitement—and options—grew. Over the past few months, we toured campuses, crunched numbers, evaluated costs, examined career prospects—and yes, my son scoped out the social scene, too.

“They all have some cons,” he said one night, disappointment in his voice.

“I know,” I replied. “Life is about tradeoffs. Focus on what feels most right for you.”

But then it hit me: this is one of the first truly major decisions our kids make for themselves. And the truth is, he doesn’t really know yet what feels right. How could he? He hasn’t lived it yet. And like any of us, he doesn’t want to make a mistake and pick the “wrong” option.

How do you make the “right” decision when you’re filled with doubt?

We’ve all faced these moments—choosing between two (or more) good options and feeling overwhelmed by the weight of the decision. Choosing a car. An apartment. A mattress. A job. A house. A paint color. Toothpaste. A pair of running shoes (seriously, why so many options?!).

Having choices is supposed to be empowering. Yet, according to psychologist Barry Schwartz, the abundance of choice today often paralyzes us instead. In his book The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less, Schwartz explains that we’ve never had so many options in human history—and paradoxically, more options often make us less happy, not more.

He writes: “Learning to choose is hard. Learning to choose well is harder. And learning to choose well in a world of unlimited possibilities is harder still, perhaps too hard.”

So, what is the antidote to analysis paralysis?

One of Schwartz’s key ideas is that understanding your decision-making style can help.

Maximizers vs. Satisficers: Knowing Your Style

Maximizers strive to make the best possible decision.

They constantly wonder: “What if there’s something better out there?”

They exhaustively research, compare, and often revisit decisions—even after making one.

Maximizers often experience regret, perfectionism, anxiety, and a lingering sense that they could have chosen better.

Example: A maximizer might spend hours reading reviews before buying a winter coat or a backpack, afraid of ending up with anything less than the “perfect” one—even if the one they buy works perfectly well.

Satisficers, on the other hand, aim to make a decision that meets their needs—and then move on.

Their mindset is: “Does this meet my standards? Great. I’m done.”

They are less stressed and more content.

Even if their choice isn’t objectively the best, they experience more peace and less regret.

Example: A satisficer picks a backpack that fits the budget and functions well, buys it, and never looks back.

Maximizing tendencies are linked to higher levels of anxiety, perfectionism, and decision fatigue. Satisficing, however, supports emotional flexibility, mindfulness, and acceptance—skills that are also central to therapy modalities like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), and Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT).

As a recovering maximizer myself, I know the temptation to research ad nauseam (hello, Google) in search of the perfect choice. But at some point, all that researching robs us of joy and time—and of momentum.

Besides, who has time for endless research and second-guessing? On this beautiful afternoon, my dog waits for his walk. Where will we go? I’ll let him choose. He always heads straight for the house around the corner—the one with the sidewalk treat bin—and honestly, he’s never disappointed.

As for our plans for the fall? My son has great options. Whichever path he chooses will open new experiences and opportunities. The act of choosing—stepping forward with courage even when uncertainty lingers—is how confidence and momentum are built.

Final Thought

Life rarely offers a perfect option—but every choice we make, with all its doubt and courage, will shape who we become.

“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” –Nelson Mandela