Quiet Choosing: Deciding Before the Pressure Arrives

Why We Avoid Deciding—and How That Costs Us Later

I’ve never thought of myself as superstitious.

But a few years ago, I noticed something about myself that made me pause.

For a couple of summers, I worked as a nurse at day camps. It’s a quiet hack for parents with a lot of kids: volunteer to take care of everyone else’s children, and yours get long days of sun, swimming, crafts, horses, and exhaustion that leads to deep sleep. Our whole family went. My husband studied by the pool. I bounced between breakfast tables, stuffing pills into reluctant eight-year-olds and tracking down a teenager who needed insulin.

It was chaotic and wonderful.

And everywhere I worked, there was the same thing: a fishing-style tackle bag.

It was attractive, heavy, and meticulously organized. Inside were small tackle boxes filled with bandages, ointments, burn spray, bug spray, meds, and instructions—everything needed for an emergency. It didn’t look like a medical bag. It looked like something you’d grab for a day on the water. But it was a little hospital if you needed it.

I learned to love that bag. Even when it was heavy on my shoulder. Even when it got thrown into a golf cart at 2:00 a.m. after a dreaded radio call.

When I got home, I made one of my own.

We call it our “medicine bag.” It goes everywhere with us. It’s a bit of a party trick—impressive when opened for a bump, a bruise, a fearful moment, or a nauseous boater. Over the years, we’ve actually opened it very few times. Our kids are grown and gone now, but I still check expiration dates, replace dried-out packages, and keep it stocked.

Here’s the strange part.

Somewhere deep down, I believe that because I have the medicine bag with me, nothing bad will happen.

That’s not superstition.

That’s quiet choosing.

Deciding before the pressure arrives.

I’ve been in a lot of emergencies—medical ones and moral ones. And long before most of them showed up, I had already made some decisions about who I wanted to be.

Not perfectly. Not loudly. But intentionally.

As a young person, I decided I wanted to be honest. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be pure. I wasn’t flawless, but that quiet choosing mattered later—when things looked convenient, when pressure was real, when the moment required a fast answer.

I didn’t have to invent myself on the spot.

I had already packed the bag.

That’s why I don’t love New Year’s resolutions. They’re often reactive. Emotional. Built under pressure.

Instead, I want to challenge you to build your own tackle bag for life.

If you define yourself ahead of time—your values, your standards, the things you’re made of—you’ll rarely find yourself frozen or confused when decisions come fast. Your inner compass will already be there, ready to pull out and apply to whatever situation you’re facing.

One simple place to start is this: create a personal mission statement and choose a small set of core values.

Think of core values as non-negotiables. Not what you do, but who you choose to be. The traits that shape your decisions, priorities, and impact.

Your mission statement doesn’t need to be poetic. It needs to be honest. One to three sentences that describe the life you’re trying to live, the people it serves, and the principles that guide you.

Post it somewhere you can see it. Let it change as you grow. Revisit it when life shifts.

Quiet choosing isn’t flashy. No one applauds preparation. But it prevents chaos, regret, and moral scrambling later.

Pack the bag now—while you’re calm—so when pressure comes, you already know what’s inside.