“Go grab some chips.”

I’m pretty sure Jen gives me tasks in the food store just to get me out of her hair.

I don’t particularly care for the food store and rarely go it alone and rarely go willingly. Today’s chip challenge is a great reminder of why.

I look skyward as I begin my quest, partially to beckon divine support and partially because the aisle markers are suspended just beneath the divine support.

I’ve always been fascinated (read: confused) by the categorization of food store products. This contemplation started years ago when I was sent to the store, both alone and unwillingly.

That’s a whole separate story—one I’m still sorting through in therapy.

For instance, this store has an “International Foods” aisle, but just a few rows down, there’s a separate “Asian Foods” section. Where, exactly, does the international food line get drawn?

And in case you’re wondering, this story takes place in the United States, as opposed to an Asian country where “Asian Foods” would probably just be called “food” and span every aisle.

Anyway, aisle continue.

After navigating the frozen tundra of dairy and the treacherous terrain of end-cap sales, I finally arrive at my destination: the chip aisle.

Yes. An entire aisle.

I am immediately overwhelmed. There are way too many options. Potato chips. Tortilla chips.

Popcorn chips. Cauliflower chips (which should be in the vegetable section). Quinoa chips (which should be in the trash).

And within each chip varietal, the brands multiply like rabbits. Lays. Tostitos. On The Border. Mrs. Vicky’s. Utz. SunChips. Cape Cod. Funyuns. And those are just the ones within arm’s reach.

I’m only halfway down the gauntlet when I realize I’ve already forgotten what kind of chip I was supposed to get.

I recall my mission directive: “Go grab some chips.”

Ah, yes. Super helpful.

At this point, I’m tempted to grab the closest bag, the most familiar bag or just pick the one with the punniest name. But even that proves to be a tough choice.

And that’s when it hits me.

This isn’t just about chips.

I have been in this exact situation outside of food store purgatory — faced with too many choices and not enough guidance. The kind of choice overload that leads to analysis paralysis.

Where no chips are selected, but many miles are trod inspecting the options.

Had Jen given me a bit more direction — “Fritos” or “tortilla chips” — I could have narrowed my search instead of standing here, frozen in indecision.

This is exactly how life can feel when we don’t define success before we start. Whether it’s career moves, personal goals or planning a project, too many options without clear criteria can turn even the simplest task into a mental marathon.

I start thinking about all the times this lesson has applied:

When a leader gives vague instructions and expects people to “just figure it out.”

When setting goals that sound nice but lack specifics.

When trying to make a big decision without knowing what actually matters.

Clarity is a gift. It reduces stress, speeds up decisions and prevents unnecessary detours. If you don’t define your own filters, the world will throw an entire chip aisle at you and expect you to pick the right bag.

And that’s when I realize — life is often like a bag of chips.

Sometimes, we make a choice and wipe the grease on our pants — living with the consequences.

Other times, we reach the crumbs at the end of the bag — only to realize we didn’t savor what we had.

And occasionally, we take a big, bold risk, biting into the unknown, like the One Chip Challenge — and find ourselves overwhelmed, eyes watering, desperately reaching for relief.

Maybe the lesson isn’t just about making better choices.

Maybe it’s about knowing why we’re making them in the first place.

But for now, I just need to make one: Fritos or tortilla chips?

By the time I pull out my phone to text Jen, she’s joined me in the chip aisle to mentor my choice with clarity.