How a journal saved my life

Up until two weeks ago, I was waiting to die.

It’s not quite as dramatic as it sounds, I promise. I merely believed that life was absurd (in a Camusian way) and I wasn’t convinced I wanted any part of it. Of course, I’m not morbid enough to actually take my own life, so I was passively waiting, for the most part.

Before getting to the meat of this post, I’m going to have to go back in time a little so you can better appreciate the impact of the life-changing experience I’m about to share. I apologise if the upcoming reveal makes you uncomfortable or shatters all your illusions about me. I don’t really have anything to say to that.

[Warning: Super long texty entry coming up; you might want to bookmark this and read it in parts. Or not at all. :>]



I had a major meltdown in the middle of a year-long Montessori course in the UK. I was doing well academically but I felt I had fallen short of my own high standards in both social and professional capacities. Certain events during the year wounded me so deeply that one day I snapped and took to bed crying for weeks, even going as far as to research ways of dying.

I’d already had a long history of depression so it wasn’t the first time I’d fallen apart like that.

Subsequently, my course director made me see a counsellor, who suspected that my depression was a symptom of autism and sent me off to a psychologist.

Six months and many tests later, I was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome.

My diagnosis and the aftermath are a whole other post, so I’m just going to summarise by saying it messed me up quite a bit. After the intitial excitement of having the impossible struggles in my life explained, I went right back to being depressed, this time more than before.


2013 to 2017

Life went on being an endless series of doubt, fear, anger, stress and ennui, interspersed with bouts of short-lived positivity as I made countless attempts to dig myself out of a monstrous proverbial hole.

On the surface, I appeared largely normal because it’s not socially acceptable to brood openly.

Deep inside, I was a raging vortex of hatred and despair.

I was capable of enjoying experiences, to be clear, such as having an ice cream on a hot day, appreciating a good joke, buying the latest iThing, watching a puppy eat, or going on nice holidays with people I love.

But these happy feelings were tenuous. Fleeting. Despair was always just a thin membrane away, constantly trying to break through to tell me that my life was shit and that I was a piece of crap.


I tried things. I did CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) for six months. I did volunteer work for a year. I tried to get busy pursuing different interests to find purpose. I tried yoga. I signed up for a fitness boot camp and went paleo. I tried bullet journaling. I tried time blocking. I tried to philosophise my way out of depression and ennui.

Nothing worked. I ran out of steam very quickly for each thing I tried. I wasn’t sleeping well and was tired all the time. Fatigue and depression fed off each other, trapping me in a prison of my own making. I was in a chicken-and-egg conundrum where my ill health was worsening my depression and my depression was making it difficult for me to improve my health.

And, stupidly, as much as I wanted to die, I constantly felt panicked about time running out. Every day, I felt that I didn’t have enough hours to play all my games and watch all my TV and read all my books and do all the 101 nonsense things I felt I had to do.

I was just so overwhelmed all the time.


I visited the doctor a lot for a myriad of physical ailments that plagued me incessantly. But I couldn’t bring myself to seek help for my depression, even though I sometimes wanted to. I was scared I would prove to be a hopeless case (since CBT didn’t help). I was scared to have to change. I also felt I didn’t deserve help since my life really was good on the surface.

So I kept it all to myself and put on a mask and went through the motions of life. I felt like a zombie most days, an animated being devoid of a soul.


Then something quite ordinary happened which produced a most extraordinary result. My whole life got turned around almost overnight.


17 March 2017

One day, I picked up my phone and made a doctor’s appointment. I was going to get help for my depression. I can’t remember how or why I did it. It was as if strength and courage rushed into me for a split-second and made me call the number without giving me any time to think about it.


28 March 2017

The day before my appointment, I was scrolling through Facebook listlessly, trying to fill the void in my life with funny content.

A sponsored post in my feed jumped out at me. It was an ad for something called the Best Self Journal. I’ve always loved notebooks and journals so I clicked on it.

I was intrigued.

This journal helps the user set short-term goals (3 months) and work towards them by using techniques that successful, high-achieving people swear by. A continuous series of carefully planned short-term goals eventually takes you to your big-time goal, if you have one.

Even though I wanted nothing more than to be dead, the journal appealed to me. I liked how it had different sections with blanks to fill in and questions to answer every day. I LOVE filling in blanks and answering questions. In fact, it’s almost a compulsion.

And here’s something ironic about me. Life may be absurd and I may be depressed, but I’m always excited to try new, fun things. It’s just that I can never sustain an interest for long because depression is my permanent roommate. Some days, she goes out and leaves me alone but she always comes home at the end of the day.


29 March 2017

The day after discovering the journal, I saw my doctor. She sent me off to get a blood test and gave me an appointment to see a self-management coach (someone who helps people with physical health conditions that are affecting their mental health).


30 March to 2 April

The next few days, waiting for my coaching appointment, I started doing the prep work for the journal.

I spent half a week figuring out my goals and creating a roadmap. After much thought, I decided to do a trial run first, so I made some stupid small goals, one of which was to clean my home thoroughly and make it nice so we can sell it and move out to a bigger, better home. I planned to complete it within a three weeks.

I decided to start using the journal the day after the session.


3 April

I attended my session and gave my coach a three-page document listing all the reasons why I hated myself and the world, and why I wished I didn’t exist.

She asked questions, listened very non-judgementally, then gave me some authors to check out for homework.


4 April

I started the journal by planning healthy habits around my goals because it’s common knowledge that physical health is important for mental health. In order to achieve the life I wanted, I had to make a very drastic cold-turkey change:


I went from this:

12:00 mn – Get into bed, stare at iPad/Kindle.
02:00 am – Fall asleep.
04:00 am – Wake up, can’t get back to sleep. Stare at iPad/Kindle.
09:00 am – Fall asleep.
12:00 pm – Wake up because Piers comes home for lunch.
(Or wake up at 2 pm if Piers doesn’t come home.)
02:00 pm – Play iPad games, watch Korean dramas or do some chores till Piers gets home at 5 pm.


To this:

12:00 mn – Sleep.
07:00 am – Wake up properly.
07:15 am – Physiotherapy, then yoga.
08:00 am – Morning beauty routine.
08:30 am – Breakfast and journaling.
09:30 am – Start on my planned tasks for the day.


That was a really tall order I’d set myself. I had tried so many times in the past to change, made strict daily schedules, experimented with different waking up times, tried different activities to start the day off to see what worked better. No routine I tried lasted more than two weeks. Many lasted only days. Sometimes, I gave up before I even started.

Perhaps my one saving grace is that I don’t give up. I mean, I’ve been a giant giver-upper and defeatist all my life, but I always eventually pick myself up to try again, even while wallowing in the dark waters of death contemplation.


Best Self Journal Day 1 Report

The first day of my new life was really tough. I managed to wake up at 7 am but felt completely shitty because I’d only had a few hours of sleep. Then I had a meltdown because unforeseen things needed to be taken care of, ruining my schedule. Yoga made me feel hypoglycaemic. I was exhausted and grumpy and stressed.

I spent two hours that morning falling apart over Skype to Piers while he tried his best to encourage me and keep me calm.

I felt a lot better after talking to him but I was so tired, and I felt drugged and jet-lagged. I decided to write off my first day and start over the next day. I did manage to do one task I’d planned and also filled in the journal sections for gratitude, areas for improvement and wins of the day, which are supposedly important to keep you in a positive frame of mind.

Because the journal made me think of ways I could improve after the day’s mistakes, I planned my next day better. I reworked my daily schedule to allow for contingencies. It meant my “goals” would take slightly longer to achieve but better done late than undone. I allocated two hours to breakfast and journaling because I discovered that doing that made me feel good and calm. Before going to bed, I tidied my breakfast and yoga areas so my environment would look more inviting in the morning.

I was all set for day 2.


Best Self Journal Day 2

You will not believe this. I can hardly, myself.

Day 2 was a miracle! It was a day worthy of being framed up and pinned on the wall with a gold ribbon and applause all around while I give a tearful thank-you speech.

I woke up at 7 am . Actually . Feeling . Excited .

I don’t know about you, but the last time I felt excited waking up at an unearthly hour was never.

I unrolled my yoga mat like I was unwrapping a Christmas present, all eager to get into it. Doing yoga helped gently pull me out of sleep. I felt refreshed and energetic afterwards.

During the day, I encountered two mini crises that would normally have sent me running back to bed, but I dealt with them and remained calm.

I completed all the tasks I’d set myself and felt like time had become a rubber band I could stretch to fit all the tasks I wanted to complete, and still had enough for fun and relaxation.

Piers was thrilled for me and his enthusiasm encouraged me.


Best Self Journal Day 3

I woke up with the same excitement and pounded through the day with the same enthusiasm, except with more exhaustion because I was still struggling with insomnia.


Best Self Journal Day 4

I managed to complete my first intimidating task of decluttering my study, a room spilling over with the forgotten remnants of countless hobbies, collecting dust and guilt. It took me three days to clean it. But it was a room very important for me to get right because it’s where I am to spend my days working on my life purpose (when I can figure out what that is).

The moment I put the very last bit of rubbish into the bin and looked around at the sparkly cleanliness, the tidiness and the spaciousness, I experienced a moment of clarity. This simple truth flashed in my mind: “If you do it, it gets done.”

I know, it sounds stupid and obvious but my brain never had room for such truisms, being permanently mired in the fog of procrastination and stress.

It was a truly profound moment. I felt the power of get your ass off the sofa and do it, almost like a spiritual awakening.


Eat That Frog

There was another epiphany I experienced on the same day. That is, if you schedule the day’s tasks from worst to easiest, the day gets easier instead of worse.

This is another simple truth I had never considered until I read “Eat that Frog!” By Brian Tracy. He teaches a success strategy based on a quote by Mark Twain:

If it’s your job to eat a frog, it’s best to do it first thing in the morning. And If it’s your job to eat two frogs, it’s best to eat the biggest one first.

I had read an article recently saying that willpower is a resource that gets used up or wears out gradually each day, so you should do your worst task first or it will only get harder the longer you leave it. This explains why “eating that frog” first thing is so important.

Practising that principle, I found my days getting better and better even as I got more and more tired. I also realised that doing this made my days end on a positive and triumphant note, eliciting enthusiasm for the next day.


Fast Forward

I’ve been doing the journal for over two weeks now and have consistently woken up at 7 am, done my daily physiotherapy, then yoga and meditation, followed by breakfast and journaling, then single-mindedly ticking off my task list one by one, every day.

It has been tough, mostly because of my sleep problems. I feel sleep deprived and jet lagged every single day to varying degrees. But being productive and having healthy habits seem to be giving me a different kind of energy to help sustain me.

In the first week, I was reeling with so much excitement every day, I even wanted to wake up at 6 am. Even 5 am. It was unreal.

I became slightly more mellow in the second week. Sleep Deprivation – 1, Crazy Mysterious Energy – 0.

Now at the start of my third week, I’ve lost the trippy mania but I’m still keeping it going.

Whereas I was literally stressed and unhappy every day of my life before this, and angering easily, I now feel calm and positive most of the time. Things that used to bother me don’t seem to as much, anymore.



I like to think that the life-saving journal came to me because I had signalled that I was ready to be helped (with the phone call to my doctor). Like a law of attraction thing. Or not, if you don’t believe in that sort of thing. I don’t know what I believe. I just know my life has changed because of that one serendipitous moment a Facebook ad caught my attention at just the right moment.


My Magic Recipe

Of course, it’s not all the journal. I think the journal helped me focus my effort in the right way and forced me to dwell on the positive rather than the negative, all while making it seem like a fun game to me.

But other elements had to be there as well to help make it all happen.

For example, I think I made a great decision scheduling yoga after waking up. It helps create calm, happy feelings and boosts energy. I added meditation to my routine when I discovered how I really love the two minutes at the end of a session when they make you lie still and breathe and think of nothing. I still don’t really know how to meditate, but using the app Headspace is now the most enjoyable part of my day.

More importantly, I have a partner-in-crime.

Workaholic Wen (my new nickname for Nanny Wen) started doing this journaling together with me. We share screenshots of our journal pages with each other to keep each other accountable. It’s fun and it keeps us in frequent contact, which is really uplifting because I hated having to leave my best friend behind years ago for life in a new country.

Having a supportive husband helps. Learning how to eat the frog helps. And I devote some time each day to reading self-help books. They give me strategies to overcome different challenges in my life.

I believe now that every lost person (like me), or maybe even not-lost people, have their own magic recipe to bring them to life, because everyone responds to different things. I think, after decades of floundering, I’ve found mine. I was never going to heal until I was ready, and then my recipe came to me.


The Miracle Morning

Halfway through working on the journal, I started reading this book called The Miracle Morning by Hal Elrod. The author advocates doing a simple six-step routine first thing every day to achieve a successful and happy life. He promises you will go from hating mornings to loving mornings and, consequently, loving life.

As I read on, I realised that I had been unwittingly doing his routine (roughly) and been experiencing the miraculous benefits that many of his followers have already been experiencing for years. It confirmed in my mind that the miracle I was experiencing was a real thing and that made me quite excited.


Moving Forward

Of course, I cannot guarantee that I’ll be able to keep this up. I mean, it totally doesn’t make sense to me that I could be depressed and suicidal all my life and just suddenly I’m not. Where did it go? It could just as soon come back, couldn’t it?

Maybe it’s a kind of self-inflicted brainwashing, like if you go to a Tony Robbins seminar, you get brainwashed into becoming a manic happy yelling person who is capable of growing wings and flying to the moon if you want to.

And perhaps the effects will wear off eventually. Or they may not. As far as I can tell, I’m experiencing changes in me I’ve never felt before. Not even that time (more than a decade ago) when I attended this super expensive Tony-Robbins-like course and got brainwashed into doing crazy things like chatting up unsuspecting strangers in public and feeling great about it. That was kind of different.


Right now, I see myself becoming this amazing healthy-lifestyle wonder girl (albeit a tad sleep-deprived) whose positivity will annoy some people to bits, but I promise I will not be loud about it.

To be fair, I still have the same pain and insecurities and fears and weaknesses, and health conditions, and, if I’m being very honest, I still believe life is absurd.

But I’m having success in keeping negativity at bay at the moment. I think my self-management coach can probably help me sustain that. (My second session is next week.) I had initially thought that I didn’t need her anymore since my journal and new magic routine were fixing me, but now I think everyone needs all the help and support they can get from as many different sources as possible.



I want to keep this positive change going, at the risk of alienating all my readers (lol), who are no doubt totally freaked by this crazy new person who is not Sheylara. I’m anticipating my blog turning serious for a while as I investigate this not-Sheylara.

Well, I probably don’t have readers anymore, anyway, after having stopped blogging for I don’t know.

But never mind. It doesn’t matter this time, whether I have readers or not. It really doesn’t.

This time, I’m blogging for myself. Because I’m not waiting to die anymore.



Death of the New Year’s resolution

I bet you all think I’ve gone and disappeared again! But I’m still here, and I really mean to not disappear again!

For at least a month!

That’s one of my New Year’s resolutions. And I’m rather impressed with myself for having one of those, seeing as I’ve been Cynical Cynthia (not having believed in resolutions) for the last, I don’t know, hundred years.

And why not?

Because I think New Year’s resolutions are an escape hatch.

Say you get tired of doing something, like yoga and eating rabbit food. So you tell yourself, oh never mind, the NEW YEAR is coming up; I will resolve to get back into yoga and rabbit food then, promise! (Never mind it’s only April.)

I didn’t want to be part of all that procrastination and denial. (Like I don’t already have enough of that in my life, haha.) Really, I thought, it’s do or do not. There is no faffing about waiting for the right time.


Do or do not?
Your subconscious knows best.


But some time last month, while not doing yoga, I had an epiphany. (Which goes to show you don’t need to be a yogi nor feed on cotton balls to have epiphanies.)

My epiphany was that not believing in NYRs was doing duck all for my goals.

People have a tendency to set their goals aside and, I don’t know, play a video game, instead.

It’s so easy to get sidetracked, lose focus, fall by the wayside, eat a whole pint of chocolate ice cream in one sitting.


Eating chocolate ice cream
Hey, let’s get some cookie dough ice cream next.


(If you’re one of those wack jobs who have earned a PhD, scaled Mount Everest twice, mastered five languages, invented a working time machine and published a hundred books by the time you’re 20 years old, go away. Just go away.)

I see now that NYRs, at least, remind us to refocus and get those bucket lists ticked off. It doesn’t matter if you keep getting sidetracked and have to keep renewing the same resolution every year. At least there’s a chance of succeeding one day.

(ADHD type people like me probably need a whole new strategy altogether, but I’m going to leave that problem for another time.)

By boycotting NYRs, I was basically allowing myself to be sidetracked for longer periods of time. I would enjoy the constant companionship of ennui while thinking, “I don’t need a new year to start doing that thing, I can just do it whenever, duh!”

But “whenever” comes rather infrequently, you’ll find.


Whenever - AKA why you never get anything done.
Whenever never comes.


Now, instead of thinking of NYRs as some dork invention, I’ve decided to think of them as a kind of parental discipline.

When you get to a certain age, you realise that parents are always right (the non-psycho ones, anyway). When they say DO YOUR HOMEWORK NOW, it is backed by all the wisdom of 14 billion years worth of universe. Meaning, disobey me and you will become a tramp, see if I care. (Actually, I do care, so go do your homework.)

Come 2016, I was determined to obey my figurative parents. My first resolution on the list was to be an early riser.

I’ve struggled my entire life to wake up early but have never quite succeeded. I have tried, honestly, about 3,482 times, despite being genetically predisposed to be an owl.

About 4 am to 12 pm would be my ideal sleeping time. But I want to be more in sync with the rest of the world (that is, pertaining to my familial and social circles).


Sync in progress. Do not disconnect.
Another way of saying behave like a normal human being, you crazy person.


So, on the first Monday of 2016, I made myself wake up at 7 am. I spent the whole day in a zombiefied state doing useful tasks I’d put off for years, such as opening mail that’s been sitting around since 2013 and filing them away neatly. It was a very successful day.

But my triumph wasn’t to last long. At 9 pm, my throat suddenly became quite sore.

At 10 pm, I started sneezing uncontrollably.

The next morning, I woke up with a bad cold and promptly went back to sleep. And that was the end of that resolution, may it rest in peace.

Well, there’s always next year.



Why I disappeared again

I’m back! Again! So, okay, that took a bit longer than planned, but it’s all normal. I just got side-tracked a little, as I’m wont to do. (I hate the phrase “wont to do” so I don’t know why I’m using it.)

Now, to pick up where I left off.

When Silly Wen left England in May, I was supposed to resume blogging (again). I didn’t, obviously, and I can’t use the alien abduction excuse twice so, this time, I’m going to place the entire blame on Game of Thrones Ascent, this stupid game I started playing early last year.

Well, okay, a bit of the blame goes to my weak will, that lousy piece of unpalatable word, but only a little bit.


(Comic) Running out of excuses


I shan’t go into boring detail so let’s just say that the game got updated with lots of new stuff around the end of April, demanding even more participation to fully reap all the benefits. It got so that playing it was a full-time job if you wanted to remain competitive.

Stupidly, I got sucked in.

I have played games full-time before. They were mostly MMORPGs such as EverQuest 2 and Star Wars Galaxies, from a long time ago, an era before evil IAPs. I never regretted those; they were fun and fulfilling, and even got me in the news.


Sheylara posing with a cheesy lightsaber toy.
An old archive photo (c. 2003) from my interview in The Straits Times
I’d probably regret digging out.


But I regret every minute spent playing Game of Thrones Ascent. It’s not even a proper game and the game mechanics and UI are so 20th century fail that I actually feel embarrassed admitting to playing it.

I also feel ashamed for having played it so long. But no more. I quit.


Suddenly, I feel free. Unencumbered. The world is my oyster again. Although, after quitting, I spent probably two weeks wallowing in that empty, lost feeling you get when you go cold turkey or end a destructive relationship.

But I’m now ready to rush headlong into my next addiction! Except I’m thinking I should take a break and be normal for a bit. You know, like, do normal people things, eat proper meals, get some exercise, water the dying herbs.

Also, blog.

So, there you go. Welcome me back! Or not, but I DO care, because I feel stupid blogging to air so the plan is for that to not happen. I like to keep a dialogue going (even if it’s mostly imagined) and I know you miss my ramblings.



And the result of the coin toss is

Previously: Deciding a wedding on a coin toss



I know you’ve all been eagerly awaiting news of the infamous coin toss, probably the most absurd coin toss in the history of coin tosses.

I would have kept everyone in suspense a bit longer (only because I’m lazy to blog about it right away), but stupid Piers scooped me by posting the result on Dayre IMMEDIATELY after the coin toss, which was just before we went to bed, so I had to wake up extra early this morning to write this piece before the news becomes too stale.

I always knew having a blogger partner was bad news!




Alright, alright, I will for once skip being long-winded and come straight to the point.

The result is: No wedding for us.

We tossed the coin 11 times. I originally suggested doing “Best of 10” because one toss felt too flippant and flukish. And, sure enough, 10 tosses ended up in a tie, so we had to do a tie-breaker toss. And the tie-breaker said no.

That was it.




So, both Piers and I went to bed rather sad.

I know. You are now going to say, “If you’re sad, that means you want the wedding, so JUST DO IT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.”

But if the last coin had landed the other way, we would have gone to bed stressed and afraid. Either way, it was going to be bad news.

I know that sounds very ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous. But life is unfair and ridiculous.

So, I guess the decision has been made for us. What do you think?

Deciding a wedding on a coin toss

First, allow me to admit that I’m an awful decision-maker. I’m quite possibly the worst decision-maker in the whole world, and that is no casual boast.

For example, I will totally forgo having a meal if I can’t decide what to eat, because copping out is just easier. I could write a whole post about this affliction of mine but I can’t decide whether I should.

Well, let’s just say that a long history of bad decisions on my part has led to crippling fear and inability in the area.




So, this wedding thing has plagued me for two months now. Piers and I were married quietly in Singapore on 7 October 2013. We planned to have a wedding in England on 14 June 2014. I planned to start planning the wedding once I returned to England on 21 November 2013.

Every day I sat down and did research and thought about what I wanted for my wedding: dress, invitation cards, cake, type of food, etc. After a month of doing this, a great mounting fear overwhelmed me. I was never going to get anything done because I couldn’t decide on literally ANYTHING.

I couldn’t decide which invitation card design to pick. I couldn’t decide what type of necklace to wear. I couldn’t decide whether to have champagne at the ceremony or later. I couldn’t decide what bloody time to start the wedding.


Pick Me! Pick Me! Pick Me!


Piers, seeing how stressed I was, said, “We don’t have to have the wedding, you know. There’s no point spending loads of money on it if we’re gonna be all stressed and not enjoy it.”

So I started giving that option serious thought.

Every day for a month, I thought about it. I discussed it with Piers, with my friends, with his parents. Everyone gave a lot of suggestions and ideas. They helped, and they didn’t. Because, in the end, WE still had to decide stuff ourselves.

One moment I was convinced I wanted it, the next I was convinced I didn’t. Every day, I got more and more stressed that the deadline was looming and everything’s going to be fully booked by the time I decide I want it.


Do what you want


We drew up a pros and cons list and assigned scores to every item on the list. The cons ended up with double the points. Pro: 400, Cons: 825.

The main pro is that it’s our once in a lifetime special day to share with family and friends, and mine are flying all the way to England for that.

The main cons are stress and cost. Even the most basic celebration would cost £8,000. (An average wedding in England costs £20,000.) We find it hard to justify spending any money on a wedding when we are in fact already married, plus we’re also planning to buy a new house and move out at the same time.

Still, even with the scores so clear cut, it was very hard to just say no and scrap the whole thing. And Piers refused to make any final decision because he said weddings are a girl thing so I should have the last say. (He’s as good as I at copping out.)


Weddings are a girl thing


Then, a week ago, I told myself, “Enough of this tomfoolery! I MUST DECIDE BY TOMORROW.”

To my credit, tomorrow came and I decided yes, we must do it because I don’t want to regret not ever doing it!

When Piers got home, I told him, “Yeah, by the way, I’ve decided we should do the wedding.”

His response was totally unexpected. He said, “WHAT? When did you decide?!”

“This afternoon!” I said.

“What! Why didn’t you tell me!”

“I’m telling you now!”

“Oh no, now I’m stressed!”

Then he started going through all the cons again (which did have higher marks).

I rolled my eyes and said, “Okay, let’s NOT do the wedding. I’m so cool with that.”

He said, “No! We can’t!”


Long story short, it turns out he’s so undecided himself he can’t even accept a decision from me no matter which option I pick. And he also succeeded in making me unmake my decision so I felt fickle all over again.

Do we deserve a Guinness Award for the most indecisive couple ever, or what.


Guinness Award for Most Indecisive Couple


He wanted more time to think about it, so I gave him time. Days passed. We didn’t make any serious effort at deciding because it was just too difficult. We gave ourselves a deadline for decision. The deadline came and went and no decision was made.

The day after the deadline, when I pressed him, he told me I needed to give my answer first, then he’ll decide whether to go along.

I told him that I had decided first the last time, so it’s his time to decide first, now.

He said, “Seriously, I’m more or less 50-50 on it.”

I said, “Well, me too!”

Then, he said, “Let’s toss a coin tonight. It’s the only way we can ever decide.”

I said, “Okay.”

And that was how we ended up deciding that the best way to decide whether to have a wedding or not is to toss a coin.

To be continued (after coin toss)…