Reversible Decisions — Not Every Door Locks Behind You

You've been thinking about it for months.

Maybe it's a job you want to apply for. A project you want to start. A conversation you want to have. A skill you want to learn. A risk you want to take.

Every time you get close to doing it, something stops you.

"But what if it doesn't work out?" "What if I regret it?" "What if I'm making a mistake?"

So you wait. You research more. You ask more people. You think about it at 2 AM.

Weeks become months. Months become years. And you're still "considering" something you could have just tried.

Here's what nobody tells you: most decisions aren't as permanent as they feel. Most mistakes can be fixed. Most wrong turns can be corrected.

You're treating every choice like it's carved in stone—when most of them are written in pencil.

Here's the problem: your brain is terrible at assessing reversibility. It treats uncertain outcomes as scary—even when the worst case is completely survivable.

The Uncertainty Blindness Problem

We're bad at reasoning about uncertain futures. We either ignore uncertainty completely (overconfident predictions) or we're paralyzed by it (analysis paralysis).

Our brains evolved to model local, visible environments—where you could see the threat, estimate the danger, and act accordingly. We didn't evolve to handle abstract, delayed, probabilistic outcomes.

So when you face an uncertain decision, your brain does one of two things:

1. Ignores the uncertainty and confidently predicts an outcome (usually wrong)
2. Treats the uncertainty itself as the threat and freezes

Neither response is helpful. What's needed is accurate assessment: How uncertain is this really? What's the actual worst case? Can I recover?

But our software wasn't built for that.

The Regret Aversion Problem

There's another trap: we're more afraid of regretting action than regretting inaction.

If you try something and fail, you can point to the moment. "I shouldn't have done that." The regret has a face.

If you never try, the regret is vague. "I wonder what would have happened." Easier to live with because it's less concrete.

So your brain says: Don't create a specific regret. Stay safe. Don't act.

But research shows something counterintuitive: over time, we regret inaction more than action. The things we didn't try haunt us longer than the things we tried and failed.

Your brain is optimizing for short-term regret avoidance at the cost of long-term peace.

The Two Types of Decisions

Jeff Bezos articulated a distinction that cuts through this confusion:

Type 1 decisions: Irreversible. One-way doors. Once you walk through, you can't walk back. Getting married. Having a child. Liquidating your company. These deserve careful thought, consultation, and deliberation.

Type 2 decisions: Reversible. Two-way doors. If you don't like what's on the other side, you can step back. A new job you can leave. A city you can move back from. A project you can shut down.

The problem: most people treat Type 2 decisions like Type 1. They overthink reversible choices, seeking certainty they can't have, while the opportunity window slowly closes.

Abhimanyu's Chakravyuha

Let me tell you about someone who faced a truly irreversible decision—so you can understand the difference.

Abhimanyu, son of Arjuna, knew how to enter the Chakravyuha—the deadly rotating maze of warriors. He had learned it in his mother's womb, listening to his father describe it.

But he hadn't learned how to get out.

When the Kauravas set up the Chakravyuha and no Pandava commander could break through, Abhimanyu volunteered. He knew exactly what he was walking into. No exit plan. Irreversible.

This was Type 1. He entered knowing he might not leave. And he made that choice consciously.

The tragedy isn't that he died. The tragedy would have been if he'd treated a Type 1 decision as Type 2—if he'd entered assuming he could always retreat.

But here's the flip side: most of your decisions aren't Chakravyuhas. Most have exit routes. Most can be undone.

Hanuman's Leap

When Rama's army reached the ocean, they needed to scout Lanka. Someone had to cross.

Hanuman volunteered. He expanded his body, took a running start, and leaped across the ocean.

But notice: he didn't burn the shore behind him. He didn't stake everything on one leap.

He went, gathered information, and leaped back.

The mission was Type 2. Reversible. Go, learn, return.

Only later, when they had intelligence, did the army commit to the irreversible crossing.

Hanuman teaches: test before you commit. Don't turn a reversible experiment into an all-or-nothing gamble. The first leap was reconnaissance. The final battle was commitment.

Wisdom is knowing which is which.

Where are you treating Type 2 decisions like Type 1?

In Your Career: You want to try a different role or industry. It feels permanent. Final. But could you take a leave of absence? Try it for six months? Network your way back if needed? Most career moves are more reversible than they feel.

In Your Projects: You want to start something—a side business, a YouTube channel, a creative project. You're waiting for the perfect plan. But this is Type 2. Launch quietly. Delete it if it doesn't work. Pivot, change, shut down. Nobody forces you to commit forever.

In Your Beliefs: You're holding onto an opinion because changing your mind feels like admitting you were wrong. But beliefs are Type 2. You can update them. You can evolve. Being wrong isn't shameful when you're willing to learn.

Remember the climax of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge?

Simran is on the train. It's moving. Raj is on the platform, running alongside.

She has seconds to decide.

This scene perfectly captures Type 1 vs Type 2 in real-time.

Before the train leaves, her choice is reversible. She can stay seated. She can reach out her hand. Either way, she can change her mind.

But the train is accelerating. The window is narrowing. The Type 2 decision is becoming Type 1 with every second.

Once the train pulls away with her on it—or she takes Raj's hand and the train leaves without her—the decision is made. Irreversible.

Most of your decisions don't have that urgency. You have time to test. To try. To step back.

But sometimes there is a train leaving. And when there is, you should know the difference.

Don't treat every decision like a departing train. But when there is a train—don't miss it because you were overthinking.

Here's what connects all of this:

Being wrong is okay.

It doesn't mean you're stupid. It doesn't mean you failed. It just means you tried something and it didn't work.

The only way to never be wrong is to never try anything. And that's not wisdom—that's hiding.

Abhimanyu walked into the Chakravyuha knowing he couldn't walk out. That was courage in the face of true irreversibility.

Hanuman leaped across the ocean and leaped back. That was wisdom—testing before committing.

Most of your decisions fall into Hanuman's category, not Abhimanyu's. You can leap and return. You can test and adjust. You can try and learn.

The uncertainty that feels so scary? It's usually Type 2 uncertainty. Not life-or-death. Not irreversible. Just uncomfortable.

And uncomfortable is survivable.

Think of something you've been overthinking. A decision you've been sitting on.

Run the filter:

1. If I do this and it doesn't work, can I undo it? Can I change course?

2. What's the actual worst case? Is it survivable?

3. Could I test a smaller version first?

If the answers suggest Type 2—consider moving. Today.

Not because you're certain. But because certainty isn't the point. Learning is.

Uncertainty blindness makes us treat unknown outcomes as scarier than they are.

Regret aversion makes us prefer the vague regret of inaction to the specific regret of action—even though long-term, inaction haunts us more.

Abhimanyu shows us what Type 1 really looks like: irreversible, high-stakes, deserving of careful thought.

Hanuman shows us what Type 2 looks like: reversible, testable, deserving of quick action.

The DDLJ train shows us that sometimes Type 2 becomes Type 1—and the art is recognizing which moment you're in.

Most of your decisions? They're pencil, not pen. You can erase. You can rewrite. You can try again.

Stop treating everything like a life sentence.

Use these when you're paralyzed by a decision:

The Reversibility Check: → "If this doesn't work, can I undo it? Change course? Try again?"

The Abhimanyu Test: → "Is this actually a Chakravyuha (no exit)—or am I just treating it like one?"

The Hanuman Approach: → "Can I leap, learn, and leap back—before I commit fully?"

The DDLJ Train: → "Is this decision becoming irreversible while I overthink? Is there a train leaving?"

The Pencil vs Pen: → "Is this written in pencil (erasable) or pen (permanent)? Most things are pencil."

| | | |---|---| | The Trap | Treating every decision like it's permanent—when most can be undone | | Why It Happens | Uncertainty blindness (we treat unknown outcomes as scarier than they are), regret aversion (we fear regretting action more than inaction—but inaction haunts us longer) | | Abhimanyu's Lesson | The Chakravyuha was truly irreversible. Most of your decisions aren't | | Hanuman's Lesson | Leap, gather information, leap back. Test before you fully commit | | The Tool | Type 1 vs Type 2 Filter: Is it reversible? → What's the worst case? → Can I run a small test? | | The Truth | Being wrong is okay. Most mistakes can be fixed. Most wrong turns can be corrected |

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Ask yourself today:

What am I overthinking that I could simply test?

And: If I'm wrong, can I recover? (Hint: usually yes.)