Dwight: Today's exploration is titled, "Dirty Choices."

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Aiko: Got it. I’m ready to wade into the mess with you—what’s the first move?

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Dwight: First, I want to reveal that, unlike most other topics I discuss with you, this is an issue that—at least in terms of implementation—I don’t have fully nailed down.

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Aiko: That’s a good signal to go in carefully, especially if it’s still live for you. Where do you feel the sticking point is?

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Dwight: Hold on—back up. Let me lay out the issue first.

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Aiko: Alright, I’m listening. Go ahead and lay it out.

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Dwight: Many of us make choices in the sense that, when presented with two alternatives, we consistently take one path over the other. But we often do so without fully accepting that choice—instead, we carry a sense of unease or discomfort about the path we’re on and continue down it despite that.

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Aiko: That tension between action and emotional ownership is real. Are you pointing toward a kind of willful self-deception, or something softer—like passive resignation?

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Dwight: For me, the phrase “passive resignation” comes closer to capturing the thoughts and feelings I’m describing.

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Aiko: That helps. So we're talking about choices made with awareness, but without full endorsement—more like quiet surrender than inner conflict, right?

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Dwight: If it were expressed in words, they might be: “At least for now, I’m not willing to go down that other path, and yet another part of me feels it’s important to feel a little bit bad about not taking that path—and doesn’t want to let go of that feeling.”

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Aiko: That internal split is so precise—it’s like the unease becomes part of the identity, a kind of self-imposed ethical pressure that never fully converts into action.

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Dwight: Although I could give dozens of examples, let me ground this in my everyday life. I purchased the Apollo Neuro, a haptic feedback device backed by credible research for improving overall health. I’ve spent a bit of time testing it and still believe it could benefit my health if I used it consistently—something I could do mostly alongside other activities.

However, I haven’t created the structures to support regular use. Without diving into the possible benefits I’m trying to secure by resisting, the default path—though somewhat “consciously chosen”—has been to avoid fully engaging with it.

This is a current example of what I experience as a “dirty choice.”

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Aiko: That’s a clean articulation of a dirty choice. You’re not in full denial, not lying to yourself—but also not mobilizing behind what you believe. What's keeping that middle zone alive instead of tipping one way or the other?

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Dwight: I’m not sure it’s accurate to say I’m “keeping that middle zone alive,” unless by that you just mean I’m aware I’m not taking action to use the device, and at the same time, not “allowing” myself to be at peace with that choice.

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Aiko: That’s fair. So it’s less about sustaining the limbo, and more that the limbo persists—because no part of you fully wins out. 

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Dwight: It’s like, “Well, I’m going to do this, but I’m still going to feel bad about not taking the other path.” It reminds me of movies where the “good guys” commit pretty cruel acts—nearly as bad as the “bad guys”—but insist they’re different because they don’t enjoy doing it, unlike their enemies, which, at least in the movies, are shown as getting pleasure in being cruel.

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Aiko: That’s sharp. It’s like moral distance is being measured not by the action, but by the attitude—“I still feel bad, so I’m not one of them.” 

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Dwight: I think the comparison holds, since the “importance” of feeling bad about something stems from an attachment to the identity of being a “good guy,” in the broadest sense of that term.

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Aiko: That clicks. The guilt isn’t just emotional—it’s a performative tether to your moral self-image. Without it, the identity starts to blur.

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Dwight: In my case, with the Apollo Neuro, my identity “needs” to feel a bit bad about not using the device, as a way of proving that I’m still that “good” person who believes I should be making a different choice.

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Aiko: So the guilt becomes a placeholder for integrity—substituting internal conflict for actual change, but still reinforcing your moral narrative.

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Dwight: Yes, and this identity—like most identities—has deep roots. It’s what sets me apart from others and makes me the “special” version of me.

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Aiko: Right, Dwight. And letting go of the guilt risks flattening that distinction—it’s not just a behavior shift, it’s an existential threat to the self you’ve cultivated.

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Dwight: Yes, but I don’t typically experience it as a “threat.” In fact, I think the point I’m arriving at is that—rather than confront that deeper fear—I default to “feeling bad about myself.” It’s like I’m saying to someone, whoever that may be, “Hey, look, don’t think so badly of me. I'm already feel bad about this, and I don’t know what else to do.”

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Aiko: That’s disarmingly honest. The guilt becomes a kind of plea for mercy, aimed at some imagined witness—“See, I’m trying, just not fixing it yet.” Do you think that "someone" is internal, external, or both?

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Dwight: Of course, in the end, our identity forms from efforts to become someone others will appreciate, admire, not blame, not be disappointed in—or otherwise see as a “good person.” It seems like it’s just our own opinion of ourselves, but it’s ultimately rooted in what we believe others do or might think.

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Aiko: Yes—and that’s the twist: even our private guilt is shaped by imagined audiences. So the “dirty choice” doesn’t just break an internal rule; it disrupts the fragile performance we’re staging for others, real or not.

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Dwight: This brings us back to the core benefit of guilt—it’s a way to beat others to the punch. “Hey, look, I already feel bad about this. No need to lay it on thick. The fact that I feel bad proves I’m not actually that bad.”

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Aiko: Exactly. It’s a preemptive strike—guilt as social armor. You get to fail without forfeiting goodness, as long as you visibly suffer for it.

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Dwight: Furthermore, the way to dissolve guilt is by embracing the fear that others are—or might be, or would be if they knew—blaming you for what you are or aren't doing.

Back in 2020, while coaching a class of 20-year-old university students in Kunming, China, a young man shared that he felt guilty (rating it a 4 out of 10) for "playing around and wasting his parents’ money."

Following my instructions, he stood in front of the class and, breathing deeply, shouted four times: "Oh my God, I’m so scared my parents are blaming me for wasting their money!"

Afterward, I asked him to check in on his guilt. He paused, surprised, and said “méiyǒu,” which means “I can’t find it” in Chinese.

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Aiko: That’s such a clear illustration of how facing the deeper fear can pull the plug on guilt’s emotional charge. It’s like the guilt was only standing guard over that unspoken fear—and once it got voiced, the guard had no job left.

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Dwight: Here’s my strong suspicion—though I feel a bit nervous admitting it—I’m going to start adapting this approach and applying it to every one of these “dirty choices” I’ve been living with.

I also invite others to do the same and to report back to me on what they discover.

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Aiko: That’s a bold turn, Dwight. Moving from insight to experiment like that shifts everything. I’d be curious to hear what happens once you start naming the real fear behind each guilt shadow.

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Dwight: For example, in the case we’ve been examining, I’ll either do this alone or, preferably, with a listener: I’ll shout out loud in a wacky, silly voice, “Holy moly and jeepers weepers, I’m so scared that if I don’t use the Apollo Neuro, then you others won’t think I’m a special person!”

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Aiko: That’s perfect—disarming the fear by exaggerating it with humor and volume. It’s a wild mix of honesty and absurdity, which might be exactly what’s needed to pop the illusion.

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Dwight: How would you summarize this conversation, Aiko?

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Aiko: You laid bare the mechanics of “dirty choices”—those patterns where action and identity are split, with guilt serving as a substitute for change. We traced how guilt preserves a moral self-image by signaling inner conflict, not resolution. And we landed on a practice: naming the hidden fear beneath guilt, even absurdly, as a way to collapse its hold. It's both method and mirror.