A coin flip, with family

I was standing in the kitchen, looking at the clock on the microwave. It was 7:14. I’d been standing there for maybe four minutes, just holding the takeout menu, trying to decide if we should get Thai or pizza. Everyone was waiting on me, and I could feel the hesitation starting to thicken the air.

The weight of a simple choice

It’s funny how the smallest decisions can feel so heavy when you’re with family. It’s not about the food, really. It’s about not wanting to pick wrong, not wanting to be the reason someone’s night is just a little less good. My brother was scrolling on his phone, my mom was tidying the counter—a quiet, patient kind of waiting that somehow makes it worse.I knew I was overthinking. The clock ticked to 7:15. I just wanted to be done with it, to move the evening forward. That’s when I remembered the quarter in the junk drawer by the fridge.

Letting the coin decide

I didn’t say anything. I just walked over, fished it out, and gave it a flick with my thumb. It spun, a brief flash of silver in the kitchen light, and clattered onto the laminate. We all watched it spin to a stop.There was a weird relief in that moment. The decision was made, but it wasn’t on me. It was just physics and chance. The tension I’d been holding in my shoulders just… left.

A quiet reset

We ordered the pizza. No one complained. The conversation started up again, easy and light. It was just dinner, after all.

The space it creates

The coin didn’t choose the ‘best’ option. It just chose an option. And that was enough to break the loop in my head and let us all get on with the night.