Take a Chance

There are moments with nachos where you have to decide very quickly what kind of person you are. Not in any dramatic way, just in small decisions that don’t feel important until you’re already committed.

Like the reach. The chip isn’t near you. It’s across the plate, just far enough that going for it means crossing into someone else’s space. You hesitate long enough to understand that this is visible, that this will be noticed, and then you do it anyway.

Or the build. You start stacking more than you should, fully aware it’s too much, but convinced that if you adjust the angle or distribute the weight just right, it might hold. It never does, but that doesn’t stop you from trying.

And then there are the smaller decisions. The ones that don’t seem risky until you’re already in them. Something under the cheese, slightly darker, slightly off. You don’t fully identify it, you just recognize that it might not be what you want it to be.

You can leave it. Take something safer and move on like you didn’t notice.

Or you can break it open just enough to check, knowing that once you do, there’s no clean way to put it back.

Most of the time, you don’t stop. You take the chip, you test the structure, you ignore the warning signs. Not because you’re confident, but because you want to know.

And at that point, whatever happens next feels like something you chose.