October 21, 2026
The leadership courage to question the choice you think you have to make
Some of the hardest decisions in life aren’t between right and wrong.
They’re between right and right.
Two good things.
Two important commitments.
Two people you care about.
Two responsibilities that both deserve your attention.
And somehow, they end up competing for the same limited space in your life.
What do you do?
Most of us begin weighing the options.
We make mental lists of consequences. We imagine disappointing someone. We replay our commitments. We consider what a responsible person would do.
And sometimes, without realizing it, we begin treating the decision as though there are only two possible outcomes.
Honor this commitment.
Or honor that one.
Protect this relationship.
Or disappoint that person.
Be faithful here.
Or fail over there.
But what if the choice you’re agonizing over isn’t the only choice available?
I recently found myself in exactly this situation.
I had an all-day session scheduled with a client. It was important work, and I wanted to honor the commitment we’d made.
Then my brother-in-law’s father passed away.
The funeral was scheduled right in the middle of our session.
Immediately, I felt the tension.
I wanted to be present with my family. But I also wanted to be dependable for my client.
Both mattered.
And because both mattered, I struggled.
I began imagining what it would mean to ask my client to rearrange our plans.
Would I inconvenience him?
Would he be disappointed?
Would I appear less committed to our work?
I didn’t like any of those possibilities.
So I started leaning toward missing the funeral.
And here’s the part that still gets me.
I was preparing to sacrifice something important without even exploring whether the sacrifice was necessary.
I had already narrowed the possibilities to two.
And I hadn’t even had the conversation.
There’s something about uncertainty that makes us want to settle things quickly.
We want to know what we’re going to do.
We want the tension resolved.
And if we’re not careful, we begin filling in the unknowns ourselves.
We decide how someone else will respond.
We decide what’s possible.
We decide which commitments are immovable.
Then we make a choice based on those assumptions.
The problem?
An assumption can feel like a fact when we’ve rehearsed it long enough.
I had spent so much time thinking about the possibility of disappointing my client that I had begun treating his disappointment as inevitable.
But he hadn’t expressed any disappointment.
He hadn’t refused to reschedule.
He hadn’t even been asked.
I had created a limitation in my mind and was preparing to live within it.
How often do we do that?
We assume a colleague won’t understand.
We assume our family won’t support a change.
We assume a board won’t consider another approach.
We assume a commitment can’t be renegotiated.
And sometimes we make enormous sacrifices to honor limitations that exist only in our imagination.
Eventually, I picked up the phone.
I explained the situation to the pastor I was working with.
And something wonderful happened.
He listened.
He understood.
He helped me consider our options.
And we found a way to reschedule our session so I could attend the funeral.
That was it.
One conversation.
The choice that had felt impossible suddenly looked entirely different.
I hadn’t abandoned my responsibility.
I hadn’t disregarded my client.
And I hadn’t needed to miss the funeral.
What changed?
Not the importance of either commitment.
Not my desire to honor both.
What changed was that I stopped trying to solve the problem without involving the person who could help me solve it.
And the relief was extraordinary.
I’d gotten up from a nap earlier that day feeling sluggish.
After that phone call, I felt so much lighter that I went for a run.
I hadn’t run in months!
Apparently, one honest conversation accomplished what months of good intentions about exercise hadn’t.
I’ve laughed about that.
But I’ve also been thinking seriously about what it revealed.
I was carrying more than the weight of two competing commitments.
I was carrying the weight of an unresolved conversation.
And once I had it, something shifted.
I’ve spent years helping leaders and organizations navigate difficult decisions.
And one of the things I’ve learned is that the way we frame a decision can determine the options we’re able to see.
If we begin with, “Which of these two commitments must I sacrifice?” we’ve already narrowed the conversation.
But what if we begin somewhere else?
What if we ask:
“What’s actually fixed here?”
“What could be adjusted?”
“Who else needs to be part of this conversation?”
“Is there another way to honor what matters?”
Those questions don’t guarantee an easy answer.
Sometimes we really do have to choose between two good things.
Sometimes someone will be disappointed.
Sometimes a commitment must be sacrificed.
But we owe it to ourselves—and to the people affected by our decisions—to make sure we’re responding to reality rather than assumptions.
Before you accept an either/or decision, make sure you’ve explored whether another faithful option exists.
That’s not indecisiveness.
It’s discernment.
I’ve been reflecting on three moves that can help us navigate these moments with greater clarity.
Before choosing between competing demands, identify the convictions underneath them.
In my situation, I wasn’t simply choosing between a meeting and a funeral.
I was trying to honor two important relationships.
I wanted to be faithful to my client.
And I wanted to be present with my family.
Naming those deeper commitments matters because it changes the question.
Instead of asking, “Which event wins?”
I could ask, “How can I honor both relationships as faithfully as possible?”
Sometimes naming what matters most reveals that the competing options aren’t quite as incompatible as they first appeared.
And sometimes it makes clear that a difficult choice really is necessary.
Either way, you’re deciding from your convictions rather than simply reacting to the pressure.
This may be the most uncomfortable step.
Ask yourself:
“What am I treating as certain that I haven’t actually confirmed?”
Perhaps you’re assuming someone will be offended.
Perhaps you’re assuming a deadline cannot move.
Perhaps you’re assuming asking for help will make you look weak.
Perhaps you’re assuming that changing a plan means breaking your word.
Some of those concerns may be legitimate.
But legitimacy needs to be established, not imagined.
There’s a significant difference between knowing that something cannot change and assuming that it cannot change.
Don’t let an untested assumption make a consequential decision for you.
This is the step I almost skipped.
And it made all the difference.
Sometimes we think protecting others means shielding them from the tension we’re experiencing.
We don’t want to inconvenience them.
We don’t want to create uncertainty.
We don’t want them to feel disappointed.
But when we make decisions without involving the people affected, we may unintentionally deny them the opportunity to participate in a better solution.
A conversation doesn’t guarantee agreement.
It doesn’t remove our responsibility to make difficult decisions.
But it allows us to stop guessing and begin understanding.
And occasionally, it opens a door we didn’t even know existed.
I think this is where leadership gets especially personal.
Many of us have spent years developing a reputation for dependability.
We want people to know they can count on us.
We want to keep our promises.
We want to do what we said we would do.
Those are good desires.
But sometimes we become so attached to being seen as dependable that we’re afraid to acknowledge our limitations.
We struggle to say:
“Something has changed.”
“I need to reconsider this.”
“I want to honor my commitment, but I need your help finding another way.”
That kind of honesty can feel vulnerable.
But it isn’t a rejection of responsibility.
It may be one of its most mature expressions.
Because integrity isn’t always demonstrated by refusing to change a plan.
Sometimes integrity is demonstrated by telling the truth when circumstances change and working together toward a faithful response.
Keeping your word matters. So does having the courage to speak honestly when keeping it requires a different arrangement.
There’s a spiritual dimension to this that I’ve been considering.
Sometimes I think we confuse faithfulness with never disappointing anyone.
We want to be good spouses, parents, pastors, colleagues, and leaders.
We want to serve well.
And somewhere along the way, we can begin acting as though being faithful means meeting every expectation placed upon us.
But Jesus never taught us that faithfulness meant satisfying every demand.
He was attentive to people, deeply compassionate, and completely committed to His Father’s will.
Yet He didn’t respond to every expectation in the way people wanted.
In Mark 1, after a remarkable evening of healing, the disciples came looking for Jesus.
“Everyone is looking for you,” they told Him.
But Jesus didn’t simply return to meet the expectations waiting for Him.
He said they needed to go to the nearby towns so He could preach there also.
He remained faithful to His mission, even when other good demands were pressing in.
That challenges me.
Because sometimes the most faithful decision isn’t the one that creates the least disappointment.
It’s the one that best honors what God has entrusted to us.
And sometimes discovering that decision requires slowing down, examining our assumptions, and inviting others into the conversation.
Maybe you’re facing something like this right now.
Two commitments that both matter.
A responsibility you feel unable to change.
A conversation you’ve been avoiding.
An opportunity you’re afraid to decline.
A relationship that deserves more attention than you’re giving it.
Before you decide what you’re going to sacrifice, consider whether there’s another decision you need to make first.
Perhaps you need to ask a question.
Perhaps you need to acknowledge a limitation.
Perhaps you need to tell someone what’s really going on.
Perhaps you need to give another person the opportunity to respond with understanding.
The answer may not be what you hope.
But at least you’ll know.
And you’ll be making your decision with greater clarity.
I keep thinking about that phone call.
About how close I came to missing the funeral.
About how much energy I spent agonizing over a decision that hadn’t yet been fully explored.
And about the unexpected freedom I felt when I finally picked up the phone.
Here’s what I want to remember:
Sometimes the most important decision isn’t choosing between the options in front of you. It’s deciding to have the conversation that might reveal another one.
That conversation may not solve everything.
But it might change everything.
And perhaps that’s the next faithful step waiting for you today.
Walking with you toward clarity,
Jeff Meyer
Executive Coach | Organizational Clarity Consultant | Auxano Lead Navigator
One of the greatest privileges of my work through The Executive Counsel is creating a confidential place where leaders can think out loud.
Not every difficult decision needs another expert opinion.
Sometimes you need someone who will listen carefully, challenge your assumptions, help you recognize what matters most, and walk with you toward clarity.
If you’re carrying a decision that feels impossible to resolve, I’d welcome a conversation.
Let’s talk about what’s possible.
Carrying a decision you can’t seem to resolve?
You don’t have to work through every difficult decision alone. Through The Executive Counsel, I offer leaders a confidential place to think out loud, examine competing priorities, challenge assumptions, and discover their next faithful step.
Sometimes one honest conversation changes everything.
Let’s have a conversation.
