Too many choices.

She woke up confused—again.

It was the second week of her automation class, and already, the spark was gone. She had enrolled out of pressure, not passion. Before this, there was design. Then data. Even copywriting. All started and stopped at the same place: uncertainty. Her friends had suggested the skills, shown her screenshots of people earning six figures from a single gig. “Try this,” they said. “It’s what’s working now.” And so she did, because why not? It is not like she had something else going on. Or so she thought.

But now, here she was, staring blankly at her screen, wondering why she was always tired of the things she thought she wanted. Why was it so hard for her to just pick a lane and stay in it? Why did every decision feel like a wrong turn?

She thought back to the stories her parents told about their youth, how hardship looked different then. Simpler, in a way. Back then, pain had a name: hunger, poverty, war, survival. There were fewer options, but also fewer questions. Life was largely about survival, and people didn’t have the luxury to choose between multiple paths. Their struggle was doing what had to be done just to get by.

But today, especially in many modern or urban settings, basic needs are more easily met(at least for a large number of people), and access to information, tools, and opportunities has increased drastically. The internet, education, global culture, and technology have opened many doors. And with those open doors come overwhelm. We no longer wrestle with access, we wrestle with clarity. We are no longer scraping by for survival—we are swimming in a sea of choices, terrified of picking the wrong one.

She sat back and sighed. She realized she wasn’t just tired of the class; she was tired of trying to figure it all out. The endless list of questions haunted her: what should I be doing with my life? Is this my purpose? What if I’m missing something better?

It wasn’t just confusion—it was exhaustion. Decision fatigue. The paradox of choice. The more doors open to you, the heavier they all feel. Every “yes” means saying “no” to something else. Every move feels like a gamble.

And so, she stayed stuck, not because she was lazy, but because she was afraid. Afraid of wasting time. Afraid of looking back in regret. Afraid that others had it figured out while she was still trying to draw her map.

The truth is, modern hardship doesn’t always wear rags or speak in hunger pangs. Sometimes, it sits silently in a bright room, behind a glowing screen, in the mind of a young woman with too many options and no sense of direction.

This is the burden of freedom: too many choices, too little clarity.

And as she closed her laptop that day, one thought stayed with her—not heavy, but honest. Maybe the real work now is not to chase every open door… but to pause, breathe, and choose one, and let it be enough.