When I was in the eighth grade my parents bought an alto saxophone for me – a Selmer Mark VII – handmade in France, top of the line. It was beautiful, and sounded a hundred times better than my old, beat up, “beginner” horn.

Years later, when I met my wife, I was paranoid about what my paltry financial situation implied, so I started selling things, the saxophone being at the top of the list.

A good friend thought it was a dumb idea.

“Don’t do it,” he pleaded.

The saxophone sold for $1700 sight unseen. I could’ve gotten much more had I spent a bit more time in the selling process.

Granted, that’s not the dumbest decision I’ve ever made, it’s just the only one I feel like sharing. I have a long, painful list of unwise choices that I’ve perpetrated over the years but, since I’ve been married, the list has gotten shorter as my dumb decisions now have to pass through someone else’s filter.

Many don’t survive.

In the painful process of learning to say “no” to these temptresses, I’ve learned their game. For me, there are three elements that are always present in the staging area of a bad decision. As a former pastor, I’ll say that I’ve seen these precede the bad decisions of other folks as well.

Maybe they’re universal.

FOMO

First up is the idea that my quality of life is somehow in jeopardy. If I don’t make this particular decision, the story goes, my life will continue its meaningless, humdrum trajectory. And so I’m convinced that I need this thing/experience/change; without it, there’s no hope of finding the life that I’m looking for.

We call it “FOMO,” or “Fear of missing out,” and it has an odd mixture of hope and fear at its core. We’ve all felt it, and we know that its attending pressure and anxiety don’t lend themselves to good decision making.

We make better decisions when we’re at peace, content with life, much less apt to get suckered into the siren call of “something better.” Note that our culture doesn’t help, steeped in the promise of a life that’s better than the the crappy one we’re currently living.

If FOMO is present in the process, but the potential consequences are on par with buying a bad meal, that’s fine. When the stakes are high, however, FOMO’s a red flag that might be pointing to a bad decision.

God?

Second up is the idea that I’m not interested in what God has to say, convinced that this new trajectory is sound and bountiful. I’ve always found it difficult to consider that I might be wrong about something that I’m passionate about. If I feel so strongly, how can it be anything less than holy?

Us Christians struggle here, frequently deducing that these feelings can only come from a higher power.

Years back, when I was pastoring a small church plant, a friend/congregant told me that God had “called” him to preach, i.e., through some miraculous line of communication, God revealed that he should take the pulpit, regularly. Anyone who didn’t agree would be, in his opinion, standing in God’s way.

From what I could tell, there was no evidence of this, but my friend’s desire for the office was strong within his heart; how could something that strong come from anywhere else but heaven?

It could have easily come from a vain desire for a position of leadership, influence, and honor; something that I’ve felt on too many occasions. In Christendom, that happens more often than any actual calling from God, especially in such a toxically male culture.

Pastors and loved ones have to be careful in helping people discern these feelings. Well-meaning Christians can and frequently do get hurt when their friends suggest that such strong urges might be coming from somewhere else.

I’m not suggesting that God doesn’t speak, or “call.” He does – make no mistake – and He’s interested in speaking into our smallest decisions. Add that He loves us without boundary, condition, or religious affiliation, and we should all be asking for His advice with little to no fear of whether or not He’s interested.

To Him, many times, we are like children who can’t decide whether or not we should get the blue lollipop or the green lollipop, afraid of what happens if we choose wrongly. Like any good parent who just wants to connect, He listens, and shares His mind. Imagine how He responds when much bigger decisions are on the table.

I don’t worry much about whether or not God will listen, or engage, or whether or not He cares. My problem is with the mountain of emotions that get in the way, frequently convincing me that I’m right, in no need of anyone’s guidance, especially God’s.

If I have some aversion to letting Him in on the decision, that’s another red flag.

Friends?

Last are the opinions of friends and family. If God should be part of my decision making process, so should the people that I respect. And since God’s not always clear and/or boring, it often helps to involve smart, reasonable people who care.

But in our culture, people often won’t tell us if they disagree with a future bad decision, even if it’s a big one. Nobody wants to be negative or hurt our feelings, so our friends oftentimes beat around the bush, avoiding a clear “I think that’s a dumb idea” sort of response.

They won’t hesitate to give us a very clear, unmistakable “yes!! if they believe that we’re about to make a good decision. But if it’s a bad one, there are a million unclear ways to say no, and some of those can sound like a “yes,” especially when that’s what we desperately want to hear.

I’m now at a point where, if I don’t get the clear “yes” but instead get a beat-around-the-bush type of answer, I’ll assume that my friend’s aren’t comfortable with decision I’m about to make.

One more red flag.

If all the flags are present – FOMO, God-aversion, and clarity-avoidant friends – it’s safe to assume that I’m on the verge of doing something dumb.

None of this means that I’m going to stop making dumb decisions. I’ll still make them, but these days I try to keep them in the “small consequence,” green lollipop/blue lollipop realm.

For example, I’ve always dreamed of having a huge, army-style tent where my entire family can camp comfortably and still have room for a nice kitchen table and a wood-burning stove.

But a tent like that usually lists for ~ $1,000. That’s “big decision” money, way too out of reach, so I’ve never pursued it. Recently, however, I found one for $250 and talked the seller down to $50. Now I have a ~200lb lump of canvas sitting in my garage, waiting for me to take it into the woods to set it up, if it will survive that.

I once made a similar small-dumb decision with an old fiberglass canoe that I bought for $75.00. It had three large holes in it and the glass was stress-damaged from stem to stern.

Now? You couldn’t sink it if you tried (wait for it).

If you’re counting, there’s 9 people in that boat. Let the reader also note the sweet Rustoleum paint job.

I have every confidence that the tent will find a similar glory. It might also rip to shreds when we try to put it up for the first time, or be destroyed in a stout, springtime wind storm. If that happens, I’ll be out $150 (had to buy poles, rope, stakes, etc.) because small decisions have small consequences and, in my opinion, don’t require a ton of thought, or a complicated process.

I do have a history of making some good decisions, and those have one thing in common: I took my time. That’s the biggest benefit of subjecting our big decisions to a long, complicated process; it forces us to accept the fact that few decisions have to be made on the spot, and subjects our emotions to a test that is sure to get them out of the way.

If the decision doesn’t have to be made on the spot, if it can wait a few days, or months, or years, so be it.

“Time cools, time clarifies; no mood can be maintained quite unaltered through the course of hours.” ~ Mark Twain