The Great Glazed Indecision

This morning, I set out with a simple goal: to buy 4 donuts.

FOUR: Not a philosophical doctrine, not a federal budget proposal, just four sugary circles of joy. I even knew what I wanted—a raised glazed, an apple fritter and 2 glazed cake ones.

The donut shop was hopping. Fine. I was eighth in line. Also fine. What wasn’t fine was that the seven people ahead of me were apparently all trapped in some sort of pastry-themed existential crisis.

Now, I’m not saying it’s hard to pick a donut. I’m saying it’s harder to choose a donut wrong. That’s the beauty of it. Donuts are binary: fried or baked, frosted or not, filled or empty like your soul when you skip breakfast. There are no bad choices in donut-land. Unless, of course, you’re the kind of person who needs ten full minutes to decide between a Boston cream and a jelly-filled like it’s a divorce settlement.

One couple—God love them—had a full ten minutes in line. Ten minutes to observe, strategize, whisper to each other like they were planning a heist. And then, when it was finally their turn at the counter… they stared at the glass case like it had just been wheeled out from the Louvre. The woman clutched her iced coffee like it was the only constant in an increasingly uncertain world.

The man, bless his indecisive heart, pointed. “Is that one raspberry or strawberry?”

“Strawberry,” the counter worker replied.

He nodded. And pointed at it again. “Is that good?”

The employee—who at this point was running on espresso, sheer willpower, and possibly mild rage—smiled. “It’s popular.”

Now, when they got to their twelfth donut (and this was a team effort, mind you), they froze.

Frozen. Like the donut case had suddenly become a moral dilemma.

The woman turned, slowly, as though the answer might be hovering behind her in the fluorescent light. And then she said the words that should strike fear into every working-class soul behind a bakery counter:

“Which one is your favorite?”

There it was. A cop-out for the ages. The nuclear option of the indecisive. Asking someone else—a stranger who’s probably just trying to survive the breakfast rush—to make your decisions for you.

The poor girl behind the counter smiled. Again. “I like the chocolate cake with the ganache.”

So they picked that one. But did it feel like a victory? No. It felt like a hostage negotiation with glaze.

Meanwhile, the rest of us in line were aging visibly. A man behind me muttered, “Jesus wept,” and checked his watch. A toddler in a stroller inched closer to adulthood. Somewhere, a traffic light changed and nobody was there to see it.

Here’s the thing: I get that people want to choose the “right” donut. But there is no wrong donut. It’s not like picking a tattoo. You’re not going to be 85 years old looking back and saying, “God, I really blew it in March 2025 when I got the coconut crunch instead of the cruller.”

No one lies on their deathbed haunted by the memory of a mis-chosen cruller. You know why? Because they’re all good. Even the bad ones are good. That’s the point.

And sure, I understand the anxiety of choice in our modern world. We live in an age where you can get 47 types of almond milk and spend three days choosing a laundry detergent that “speaks your truth.” But maybe—just maybe—we should practice committing to the little things.

Order the first donut that catches your eye. Live dangerously. Say yes to the sprinkle-covered abomination. Get the one with bacon and feel your arteries tremble in fear and delight. What’s the worst that happens? You eat a sub-par donut? That’s still better than 93% of all life experiences.

I finally got to the front of the line, and the girl behind the counter greeted me with a smile that barely concealed the thousand-yard stare of someone who’s been asked one too many times, “Do you guys have cronuts?”

I said, “1 raised glazed, 1 apple fritter and 2 glazed cake”.

She blinked. “That’s all?”

“Yes. I’ve made peace with my choices.”

I thought she might cry.

So that’s my little morning fable, dear reader. A parable of powdered sugar and paralysis. A tale of humanity’s eternal struggle between choice and chaos.

The next time you find yourself staring into a bakery case, remember this: you are not choosing a soulmate. You are choosing fried dough. Act accordingly.

And for the love of all things holy—don’t ask the poor employee what their favorite is. They don’t care. They just want you to decide, pay, and go live your life.

Preferably with a donut in hand.

Julie Bolejack, MBA