Choice

Facebook – it's a killer, really it is. I'm now one of thirty million members worldwide. I've uploaded photos, I've created and joined groups and I've rekindled friendships that had extinguished decades ago. All good – but my loyal blog-reader(s) have felt the void, so I'm back with more self-obsessed ramblings for your enjoyment.

In my last proper post I was in Holland. The following week I went to New York and worked in the office over there. I stayed in a hotel that looked better than it was, in Midtown, and caught up with an old school friend face to face for the first time in years, which was fantastic. On my last night I took a tourist bus around Manhattan and a tiny portion of Brooklyn. I took a lot of photos, most of which served to fuel my conviction that, if I had the inclination, I could execute a dramatic career turn and become a professional photographer.

I've now been back in London for a month and work has become fairly routine – I'm finally over the shock of a nine-to-five. But that's not to imply that I'm remotely happy about it. Not a day goes by when I don't plan what I'd rather be doing. Current hot favourites include:

• Moving to Paris
• Moving to the South of France
• Moving to San Francisco
• Moving to New York
• Moving to the English countryside
• Moving to the Scottish Highlands

You may notice a pattern emerging. Moving is high on my agenda. Yet despite these urges, I am simultaneously planning to buy a house in London. This might be called 'denial'. Or: 'confusion'.

I am not only befuddled on a macro level – I am often badgered by more minor choices involving the use of my time. In the past week, I have considered:

• Training to be a Master of Wine
• Becoming a professional photographer (again)
• Going back into journalism
• Running a farm
• Home schooling my unborn children
• Taking French refresher evening classes
• Taking evening classes in pottery
• Learning to sew and becoming a dressmaker / maker of quilts
• Setting up an eBay business specialising in vintage clothing
• Setting up a vintage clothing emporium somewhere unlikely eg. a small village

Last year I read a fantastic book called The Paradox of Choice. Its fundamental lessons were that the more choices you have in life, the less happy you will be with the choices you make and the longer you take mulling over various options, the less happy you will be with the outcome. One crucial piece of advice was that, to guarantee maximum contentment, we must limit our options by selecting the two most likely or most preferred options from any list – and completely discarding and forgetting the others. Then we should choose from those two alone. But although it should be liberating, the process of discarding eight tenths of my possible life directions would pain me.

Even at this time of gargantuan government, political correctness and CCTV, in the developed world we live largely without traditional limitations, and the never-ending plethora of options we have today is a recipe for discontentment. The protagonist in the book I'm reading at the moment said he would rather the certainty of experiencing a car crash than the eternity, the lack of boundaries, of a mountaintop at midnight. I'm not saying I'd rather die than have choices – but I know what he's saying.

Yet even if we accept that they're hurting us, we are still addicted to the choices we have – if they were taken away we'd mourn them like a lost limb. The freedom to become a Master of Wine or a professional photographer is mine, and I would hate to be without it. And perish the thought I should be denied the right to go online and see what my four friends and 134 acquaintances are doing with each of their days' 24 hours.

Facebook is a window into the lives of others – it's a continual update of available options. Dave's going to play bingo next Thursday – why don't you join him? Alison's watching Desperate Housewives – switch it on too. Tabitha's had a baby – aren't you feeling broody at the moment? Maybe you should focus on getting married and starting a family. But Adam's in LA and he's just bumped into Robin Williams – wouldn't that be fun? Emily's in the Pyrenees and her goat has just had kids. Doug's in Paris and can see the Eiffel Tower. Louise is on holiday in Sardinia. Look at everyone else and compare and contrast – it doesn't take long before the mundanities of your own existence seem unfavourable when viewed alongside the highlights of others.

Too much introspection is traditionally thought to be a dangerous thing, and I'd agree that in my past it has proved to be unhealthy. But what is also clear is that too little navel-gazing can be equally hazardous – a life spent looking outwards to other people and other options isn't much of a life at all. Better to revel in one's own navel every so often and see the gems that reside within – and accept that a little bit of healthy self-obsession isn't be such a bad thing after all.