<p>We are merely biological constructs moving on our preordained paths. Or are we? Have our kismets really been carved in granite? Or are we free agents, able to decide and execute at will? Which is more terrifying - you - as a mere passenger in the roller coaster, or you - as the operator of the roller coaster? Some argue that through thinking they are in control, they feel a greater sense of purpose and security. The former, sure, but the latter - really? </p>
<p>Let's entertain the possibility that we are the drivers. We blaze our trails. We stop at the crossroads and contemplate. We traverse the rugged terrain. This seems ideal - we're in charge. We're not mere pawns on a chess board - someone's, or some entity's, mere objects, but we are each our own object. </p>
<p>But even as individuals in control, we lack prescience. We can peer down the forks of the road, but we can only speculate as to what lies further down each fork. And this is what makes being in control so terrifying. We only have the mirage of control; we are limited by our collective myopia. We can pick which fork to take, but our choices are little more than mere guesses, based largely on whim. And sometimes, these whims can lead us on great journeys. Wait. How can my use of the adjective "great" be justified on a relative basis? It cannot. I lack the prescience to compare the result of my taking one path to the result of my taking another path. And thus, ignorance is perhaps bliss. </p>
<p>Last year, around this time, I was sitting in the guidance counselor's office, choosing my courses for next year. I had signed up for both biology and physics, but my counselor asked me, in a rather particular tone, if I really wanted to take physics. Without bothering to contemplate, I immediately replied in the negative, and asked her to drop the course. Was this the right decision? I do not know - I lack the ability to fully contemplate the alternatives. But in an absolute - rather than relative - sense, I'd venture to say that it was perhaps a good choice. If I had taken physics, I would likely have been placed in a different calculus period. And esse est percipi - to exist is to be perceived. We would likely never have met in a meaningful way. I might perceive some earthly incarnation of Aphrodite in the hallways, and she might perceive a shade of Adonis strolling around every now and then, but these impressions would have ephemeral. We'd mutually exist - but only for a fleeting moment. And at the orthodontist's office, we might sit next to each other, but only as complete strangers. The pleasant surprise, the epinephrine rush, and the conversation would never have transpired. And I would never have later tried to get the orthodontist to schedule our appointments together for another surprise meeting. And I would never have stayed up so late every night penning lengthy letters in loopy cursive and purple ink. And I would never have carried that white piece of poster board to school. And that white piece of poster board would never have been transformed into something so touching. And I would never have written this essay in quite the same way - if at all. Nothing would likely have happened the way things did. To think that this all hinged on one decision is terrifying. To think that I am liable for my own happiness and sadness is a terrifying burden to shoulder. I could easily have ended up in one of the myriad calculus classes. And this is where ignorance equals bliss. Ignorant of the myriad roads we can take, we forge on with the one road we do take, and derive whatever happiness we can from it. Perhaps there was greater happiness to be found if I had elected to take physics. Perhaps. But I'll never know. </p>
<p>Control is a satisfying illusion. But dig deeper. It crumbles. It really isn't much more satisfying than the alternative, in which we are mere trains traveling upon a fixed track. Although I contemplate these fascinating possibilities, I don't really subscribe to either theory. I just live and take whatever life has to offer me at the present moment. I am thankful for being alive; I am thankful for being able to experience all the highs - and the lows - of whatever my path is. I am thankful for being able to experience all the scenic routes - and all the potholes - of whatever my path is. And I'd like to thank you - my audience - for reading this discursive essay.</p>