There are two great fears when it comes to deciding to change. One is that we will act too soon, with too little thought, and regret it. The other is that we will think too long, wait too long, and never move at all. 

I have spent much of my life caught between these two forces. I am no stranger to big decisions, to new directions, and to feeling a pull toward something different. And yet, I have also felt the weight of hesitation, the need to be sure before I step forward. It is a tension many of us feel—the desire to move, but the need for it to be the right move. The need to be careful, to be strategic, to protect ourselves from making a mistake. 

I have ADHD, which means I’ve spent lots of time worrying that I’m being impulsive. And sometimes, I have been. There are moments when I’ve made a quick decision that feels right at the moment, then quickly worried if I had acted too fast. I have had to go back, to adjust, to course-correct. And so I have learned to slow myself down somewhat, to question my instincts, to bring in analysis and planning as a counterbalance to emotion. I have improved at my ability to sit with an impulse and ask: Is this urgent and important, or just urgent?

But it becomes complicated. If we spend too much time tempering ourselves, too much time distrusting our instincts, too much time analyzing every possible outcome, we begin to lose trust in our ability to act at all. I have noticed a loss of trust in myself. I don’t want to be reckless, but I don’t want to be paralyzed either.

How do we transition thoughtfully, but without overthinking? How do we create a solid plan without letting planning become an excuse to delay the right actions? 

The Weight of Judgment (From Others and The Self)

While my most of my decisions might look fast from the outside, they rarely feel that way to me. I know how long I have sat with them, how many hours I have spent turning them over privately in my mind. What seems sudden to others is often something I have carried for months, even years, before it finally reaches the surface. Even still I fear the “impulsive” label.

This label, it feels, basically equates to foolishness. The implication is that someone who is impulsive is also a bad critical thinker, and that all others who aren’t impulsive wouldn’t fall into such simple and obvious traps.

I fear might be true. What if I am impulsive? What if I am that fool? What if I’m just repeating an old pattern? What if I’m mistaking an urgent desire as a flash of clarity? What if I am stuck in chasing, always seeking, but never truly arriving? Obviously, nobody wants to spin their wheels in life chasing urgent impulses without understanding them.

If I were completely confident in my decisions, would I care if someone else thought they were foolish? Probably not… But when I already have doubt lingering in the back of my mind, even a passing comment or certain “look” or tone can feel heavy. I fear the moment, after making a decision that others would label as hasty or impulsive, that I am metaphorically sitting on the kitchen floor weeping, seeing the damage I’ve caused to myself with my foolishness!

The Conflict Between Feeling and Analysis

Leaving a job “suddenly” can be an impulsive act of frustration, or it can be a clear, lucid, intentional move toward something better. Moving to a new city seemingly on a whim can be an escape, or it can be a long-overdue step toward a life we have been envisioning. Selling everything and starting over can be reckless, or it can be a necessary reset. 

So how do we know which it is? How do we trust that our decision is one made from clarity and not just from restlessness or sudden urges? 

It would be easy to say that impulsivity is reactionary, and authenticity is deeply felt, and to leave it at that. Impulsivity is a quick, emotional response and authenticity is a slow, steady knowing. But I don’t think that’s entirely true. 

When I want to react to something, I am deep in my feelings. When something inside me screams run, or quit, or move, or go, that is not an empty impulse. That is not shallow. It is something felt at the deepest level of my being… a real, undeniable pull toward action. 

But at the same time, I know that feelings such as those can be overwhelming in the moment. They can be distortions, making a single issue feel like everything, turning an irritation into a catastrophe, making discomfort feel unbearable when, given a few hours or days, I might feel differently. I know this about myself, which is why I slow down more now. I apply analysis, I wait for the emotion to settle, I force myself to sit with it. 

This, I believe, is a good thing. But this skill or mode, if overused, can also turn into distrusting yourself entirely and freezing.

Analysis as a Symptom of Self-Doubt 

Spend too much time tampering down your feelings, treating them as if they might betray you, and you start to believe that your instincts aren’t trustworthy, and that gut-level decisions are inherently dangerous.

If you train yourself to always second-guess your emotions, to never act on something unless it has been fully reasoned out, then you will spend your life in hesitation, in limbo, in half-decisions that never quite move forward. This is what the fear of being labelled “impulsive” can do.

The safest route through any problems might become:
✔ Analyze. 
✔ Create a plan. 
✔ Think through every possible outcome. 
✔ Wait, because waiting means certainty, and certainty means you won’t get it wrong. Best is to wait for logical or forced circumstances so that a decision doesn’t even need to be made!

This is where problems can rise. Some decisions require a pause, but not all. It’s hard to distinguish between these two modes, wait or act. Accept or reject.

Balancing Feeling and Thinking 

If impulsivity is acting too soon, and over-analysis is never acting at all, then the goal must be somewhere in between, I suppose.

Here are some thoughts, and things I’ve been trying to do:

1. Let the First Reaction Settle, but Don’t Ignore It. 

• When I feel the impulse to quit, move, or change something major, I don’t immediately act on it. But I also don’t dismiss it. I let it sit. How long should it sit? I’m not sure. Beware of too short or too long.

• I don’t smother it with logic right away. I allow myself to just feel it. 

2. Test Decisions / Ideas in a Low-Risk Way. 

• Instead of making all-or-nothing moves, I try to imagine smaller experiments. Dip the toe instead of jumping into the lake, at least initially.

• Example: If I get an urge to move somewhere new, instead of uprooting my life overnight, I might plan a trip there for a few days and see how it feels. Maybe if the feeling of “escape” remains during my short trip, I might need to question where this feeling is coming from and how accurate my perceived solution is.

3. Every single decision has risks, No decision is perfect.

• Even the most well-thought-out plan has uncertainty. Generally even impulsive decisions can be adapted if needed along the way. 

• Every decision is a gamble with varying odds of good and bad outcomes, including staying in place and not acting at all.

If I could sum it up, I would say this: 

Sometimes, our “impulsive” instincts are right. Sometimes, the moment is the right time to act. If we always hesitate, if we always demand full certainty before making a move, then we risk infinitely postponing the correct actions out of fear of being impulsive.

So yes, let’s slow down when needed. Let’s examine our impulses, apply higher thinking, and make thoughtful choices. 

But let’s not wait so long for certainty that we miss the moment we were meant to move. Let’s not do things just to avoid the label of impulsive. Other people may not ever think your decision is “thought out” which is code for– they just don’t like it! No amount of time passing would make them happy with it.

Why Thoughtful Planning Is Not the Same as Overthinking 

There is a common belief that change requires a great leap—a moment of courage where we throw ourselves into something new, trusting that we will figure it out on the way down. And while there is something romantic about this idea, it is not what I believe in. I’ve been in those “leap” moments and they never feel quite as dramatic as I expect they will.

Instead, I believe in the value of structured, intentional transitions—ones that allow for clarity, for stability, for a sense of confidence in the steps we are taking. They don’t need to be slow plans.

I have spent years working in planning, risk analysis, budgeting, and structuring complex transitions in professional settings. And what I have come to realize is that these same tools that help organizations navigate change can also help us in our personal lives. They allow us to take something uncertain and break it down, to make a shift without it feeling like a freefall. 

To someone else, leaving a job might seem like an impulsive decision. But if that decision is supported by a clear exit strategy, a financial plan, an understanding of risk, and a structured transition timeline, then it is not reckless at all—it is a thoughtful leap. A leap, yes, but one where we know what we are jumping toward and what safety measures we have in place. Does that strip too much romance from the idea? If a change is a good idea, it should be strengthened by a planning process, right?

Plans Do Not Equal Certainty 

Many people hesitate to make a change because they want certainty. They want to know, beyond any doubt, that this is the right decision, that it will work out, that they won’t look back with regret. And so they wait. 

They wait for the perfect financial conditions. 
They wait for a sign. 
They wait for a moment when they will feel completely sure. 

But full certainty is a myth. There will always be unknowns. There will always be risks. There will always be a moment when we have to step forward without having every answer.

The question should not be, When will I feel 100% certain? The question is, How much do I need to know before I trust myself enough to move forward? 

That is why planning is so important. Not because it eliminates uncertainty, but because it gives us a structure for navigating it. 

A well-planned transition does not mean we will never feel fear. It does not mean there won’t be moments of doubt. But it does mean that when those moments come, we will have something to hold onto—a roadmap, a framework, a set of decisions already made that allow us to keep moving even when uncertainty tries to pull us back. 

How I Help People Move Forward With Stability and Confidence 

What I offer is not just analysis, and it is not just action. It is the bridge between the two. 

It is for people who know they need a change, who feel the pull toward something different—whether that is a career shift, an unconventional lifestyle, or a completely new way of structuring their work and life—but who do not want to make a reckless leap. 

Together, we: 

• Clarify the vision—not just what you are leaving behind, but what you are moving toward. 

• Assess financial and risk realities—so you understand what you need before you transition. 

• Compare transition paths—so you know the best way to step forward. 

• Structure a clear timeline—so you have confidence in the process. 

• Create action steps—so you are not just thinking about change, you are actually moving toward it. 

I do not believe in endless over-planning that keeps us in place. But I also do not believe in throwing caution to the wind. I believe in structured movement—so that when you do take that next step, you do not feel like you are falling, but rather stepping onto solid ground you have built beneath you. 

Final Thought: Planning as a Path to Freedom 

Planning is not the enemy of change. It is the thing that makes change sustainable. 

It allows us to move forward with confidence, to take risks without recklessness, to create the kind of life we want without sacrificing stability and security in the process. 

And at the end of the day, that is what matters—not whether we move fast or slow, not whether we act on instinct or analysis, but whether we are moving at all. 

Because the real danger is not making a wrong decision. 

The real danger is waiting so long for certainty that we never move at all. 

Read my disclaimer here.

Photo by Jeremy Perkins on Unsplash