I Thought I Was in Control Until I Realized This About Choice –

Last week, I was in my refrigerator looking for something to drink to go with my meal.

I wanted something sweet to wash my meal down with, but I know I need to drink more water.

Choices!

My experience with social media in 2025 has taught me this learned phrase: the illusion of choice.

When I open YouTube, HBO Max, Disney+, the illusion of choice is on full display. This is what I mean—why isn’t what I chose, my list, my watchlist, the first option when I open the app?

We get these apps. We get these profiles. We sign up to create avatars because this is our profile. And our profile is loaded with choices—the choices we select and add to our list from things of interest: movies, series, programs we plan to watch.

We spend time gathering all of our liked movies and shows, building this list, closing the app, and coming back when we finally have time to watch.

Only to realize… what you chose isn’t there.

Or if it is there, it’s so far down the list that it makes no sense. What’s in front of it is what’s recommended, what’s popular, what’s new, what’s trending. It’s what the system wants you to see.

So while I think I made a choice—while I did make a choice to add what I like—I assume that would be the priority because I’m paying for the service.

But it’s not.

It’s the illusion of choice.

Modern convenience creates the feeling of control without actual control. What we select isn’t always what we’re shown—and that realization changes how we think about autonomy.

Choice is powerful.

And I see this same thing on social media. Our newsfeeds are jumbled up, out of order, and a lot of the time they’re not filled with the choices we made 100%.

There’s a lot of suggested content because of advertising. I understand that part of it.

But where are my friends?

Where are the friends I chose to connect with? Where are the friends who chose to connect with me? Where are they in relation to all the other things I’m forced to see that are not necessarily my choice?

Again—it’s the illusion of choice.

They’re going to decide what they want and need me to see. “They” being whatever social media app I’m on.

And I’ve noticed this trend across all social media platforms and streaming services. You have a choice. You have multiple choices.

Now, whether retrieving those choices is easy or not—that’s a different thing.

And I’ve summed it up as this: the illusion of choice.

Digital platforms offer access, not priority. The choices exist—but visibility is controlled. Convenience quietly replaces consent.

Last week, I was in my refrigerator looking for something to drink because I was thirsty. I had sat down with my meal only to realize I forgot to get something to drink.

As I walked toward the refrigerator, I started thinking about what was in there.

On the counter, I saw my gallon jug of water that I had been babysitting all day. In the refrigerator, there was more water. And there was some pink lemonade I got from Sam’s—specifically strawberry lemonade.

I know I’m supposed to have more water.

But I wanted something sweet to wash my meal down with.

Choices.

These were my choices: water or strawberry lemonade. What I know I need versus what I know I don’t need more of—especially knowing what I know about what’s in the strawberry lemonade.

Which one won?

Of course, the strawberry lemonade.

I made a choice.

Not all choices are hidden. Some are obvious. And still, desire can outweigh discipline—even when the outcome is known.

Even though I chose the strawberry lemonade, I only poured about a quarter of a cup. I didn’t want a full glass.

That was my choice.

Just a little taste. Just enough to wash it down—along with a bottle of water from the refrigerator and the gallon of water sitting on the counter that I’d been babysitting all day.

Life is full of choices.

There are choices where we don’t know the outcome. There are choices where we do know the outcome—or at least the probability of it.

The older I get, the more I understand choices. The more I understand having to live with the choices I make—good and bad—and settling into the results.

With those results, I might be happy. I might not be.

If I’m happy, what do I do? Do I praise myself for making the right decision? Or do I continue as if this is how things are supposed to be?

If the choice was bad, how do I live with that? Do I beat myself up for making the wrong decision?

And if I do, what are the first steps to correcting it?

Maturity brings accountability. Choices don’t end at decision-making—they continue through consequence, correction, and acceptance.

I’m learning that the process takes time, even when I want change to happen instantly. It doesn’t work that way.

Having to sit in the result is tough.

Having to find the energy to put forth extra effort to correct a wrong choice—or to make the best of it—is even tougher.

And then there’s this realization: my time is finite.

I don’t have a lot of time to make the wrong choice anymore. Because correcting a bad choice takes time—and sometimes more time than I can afford.

Social media and streaming services give us the illusion of choice, making it feel like we’re in control.

But real life doesn’t work that way.

There is no illusion of choice in real life.

There is the reality of choice.

Real choices carry weight. They cost time, energy, and consequence. Unlike digital platforms, life doesn’t buffer the outcome.

The reality of choices means good and bad—not or. I believe in living in the and.

But there are moments when it is the or.

Either you put gas in your car—or you don’t.

And if you don’t, you live with the possibility of running out of gas on the way to work. You might think, I can make it.

That’s a risk.

What’s the probability of that risk becoming reality?

That’s risk-reward assessment.

And as I get older, I do that assessment more often—especially when it comes to health and fitness.

Diet is about choices. Fitness is about choices.

And there are times when I knowingly choose wrong because I want to indulge. Sometimes I just don’t care.

But that has a consequence.

I’m not going to be young forever.

Time is finite.

Indulgence isn’t ignorance—it’s a conscious tradeoff. And every tradeoff has a cost that eventually comes due.

As I get older and understand how limited time really is, I want to make better choices because there’s less time to correct bad ones.

These are desires—health, clarity, longevity, strength.

And desire requires effort.

Effort requires energy.

And energy requires commitment to see it through.

There are obstacles. There are tough roads.

But without the desire for what I want, I won’t do the work.

So I have to have the energy.

I have to have the energy to see it through.