you said yes again today — the meeting, the favor, the plan you didn't want. and somewhere between the ask and the yes, there was no decision anywhere in it. a second later you didn't feel like yourself.
i know because it's mine too. someone asks me for something, and the yes is gone before i've decided a thing.
here's what it isn't. it isn't politeness. it isn't being easygoing. and it isn't weakness — you're not broken, and nobody is doing this to you.
it's fear, moving faster than you. the guilt. everyone already going along, and you not wanting to be the only one who didn't — the fear of being alone in the room. the yes was trained to come first, years of it, so the body answers before the head catches up. and by the time it does, the yes is already out there, being true.
a yes that isn't yours doesn't start the drift. it shows it. the doing-without-deciding was already running; the yes is just where it gets loud. that's the real cost — not the meeting, the drift.
i couldn't fix it with promises or willpower — the yes was there before i ever got to choose. what i found instead is smaller: there's a half-second between the ask and the yes. most days i miss it. but it's there, and you can practice it like anything else.
the practice is four beats. notice the drift. touch one fixed point — a desk edge, a sternum, a watch band. say "here." then return — the thing in front of you gets you back. you're here again — no move to make. that's the whole thing.
honestly: most days the yes is still out before my hand gets there. noticing after still counts. that's the rep — the chain breaking and getting rebuilt, not the chain holding.