The most underrated of all skills we value in our society seems to decision making. You can get by in a sufficiently content manner without ever having to make a decision for yourself. There are parents to do it for you, their parents to do it for them, well-meaning relatives to do it for all of us; and if the cumulative intellect of the family fails to arrive at a decision, they can run to an external entity who makes these decisions for them (with the help of numbers, birds, planets, inanimate objects such as stones, or even consult with Time and let you know how exactly your future will turn out to be). Amidst this, I have begun to feel my mind is the vestigial organ, not my appendix.
While I do not particularly want to argue about the belief in itself, it is the constant need for validation that irks me. Someone has to be available at all times, to take our problems to, to cry to, to blame, to help us arrive at solutions (which we may have independently thought of too), to comfort us that we are indeed doing the right thing, to console us when we know we should have done better.
Shall I buy a car now? Okay, you may do so.
Can I go abroad for my studies? Wait until next year.
Should I get my daughter married to the one she likes? No, her future will be miserable.
Even if all of this may be true and correct, do we not deserve the right to make our own decisions (or mistakes)? Does courage lie in breaking free from what binds you and draw attention to the idea that it is your life and hence your choices? Or does courage lie in trying to change these perceptions and convincing someone else to accept your point of view? I used to think I had the answer to this, but of late I am beginning to question.
This brings me to something else I feel uncertain about: if I were born male, would I be held in high regard for my ability to think for myself? Would I constantly be told I cannot expect to make my own decisions? Would I be reproved for my ambitions?