Narrator: Imagine standing in a university admissions building, the air thick with the smell of initiative and anxiety. You’re holding a transcript request form, but what you’re really asking for is a sign, a clear path forward. For author Emily P. Freeman, this moment in the late 1990s was the start of a months-long spiral. The decision of whether to attend graduate school consumed her. Every sermon, every conversation, every quiet moment became a desperate search for a definitive "why." She felt herself turning into a strange, hyperfocused version of herself, paralyzed by the weight of a single, unmade decision. What if the secret to moving forward isn't about finding the perfect, long-term plan, but about something much smaller and more immediate? In her book, The Next Right Thing, Freeman argues that the path to clarity and peace isn't found in having all the answers, but in discerning the very next step, and then the one after that.

Narrator: Modern life presents a staggering number of choices, with research from Cornell University suggesting adults make over 35,000 decisions daily. This constant demand for decision-making can lead to a state of paralysis, especially when facing major life crossroads. Freeman argues that we often become obsessed with finding the "one right path," a perfectly illuminated, long-term plan that guarantees success and eliminates uncertainty. This pursuit of absolute clarity, however, is a trap. It turns us into what she calls "strange versions of ourselves," anxious and overwhelmed by the pressure to control the future.

The antidote to this paralysis is a simple, yet profound principle: just do the next right thing. This idea, echoed in the wisdom of Alcoholics Anonymous and the teachings of Jesus, shifts the focus from the overwhelming five-year plan to the single, manageable step directly in front of us. Freeman illustrates this with her own agonizing decision about attending graduate school. For months, she was stuck, trying to find a logical explanation that would justify the time and expense. Her spiritual director offered a crucial insight, noting that "Our Western minds are trained to go down the path of explaining. We think if we can understand it, then we can control it." The breakthrough came when Freeman stopped trying to map out her entire future and instead focused on the next simple action: enrolling. The decision itself wasn't the point; the point was moving forward in faith. This principle reframes decision-making not as a high-stakes test of getting the right outcome, but as a practice of spiritual formation, where the process of choosing shapes who we are becoming.

Narrator: In a world of constant digital and social input, our minds can become as cluttered as a neglected attic. Freeman introduces the concept of "soul minimalism," drawing a parallel between physical decluttering and clearing our inner world. Just as a home fills with clutter when input (shopping, gifts) exceeds output (donating, discarding), our souls become overwhelmed when we absorb endless information, advice, and anxiety without a regular practice of release. This mental clutter clouds our judgment and makes it nearly impossible to hear our own inner wisdom.

Freeman describes an experience at a noisy gym where, while listening to a podcast on minimalism, she had a revelation. She realized that while our lives are full of input, we rarely schedule "output" for our souls. To combat this, she advocates for creating intentional space through practices like stillness and silence. This might look like Andy Crouch's "hour a day, a day a week, and a week a year" tech fast, or simply noticing the naturally quiet moments in a day. This intentional quieting of external voices is crucial for discerning our own path. It’s not about owning nothing, as minimalist Joshua Becker says, but ensuring that "nothing should own you." By decluttering our souls, we stop collecting gurus and advice out of insecurity and instead create the quiet space needed to listen to the one voice that matters most.

Narrator: We often get into trouble when we fail to properly name what is happening in our lives. Vague anxieties and unnamed realities hold immense power over us, shaping our decisions from the shadows. Freeman argues that the act of naming—whether it's an emotion, a fear, or a new life situation—is the first step toward clarity and agency. She tells the story of how, for years, her work as a writer and speaker grew gradually until she was working a full-time job from home without ever consciously acknowledging it. She felt constantly overwhelmed, operating under the old expectation that she was primarily a stay-at-home mom. The moment of clarity came not from a grand plan, but from a simple thought while loading the dishwasher: "Emily, you have a job."

Naming this new reality allowed her to grieve the life she was leaving behind and adjust her expectations for herself and her family. It’s crucial to distinguish naming from explaining. When a massage therapist pointed out tension in her back, Freeman’s first instinct was to demand a diagnosis. The therapist wisely replied that a name is "more like a song than a definition." We must give our realities a name and let them exist without immediately needing to control them with an explanation. This practice of naming allows us to be where we actually are, not where we pretend to be. As Dr. Larry Crabb states, "God meets us where we are," and we cannot make the next right decision until we are honest about our starting point.

Narrator: When faced with a difficult choice, our motivation is often driven by one of two forces: fear or love. Fear pushes us; love leads us. Freeman shares a powerful story of being invited on a trip to the Philippines with Compassion International. Her immediate response was a list of valid reasons to say no: young children at home, writing deadlines, a sick father-in-law. But underneath these practical concerns were deeper, unacknowledged fears of long-distance flying and getting sick. She was stuck, with neither a "yes" nor a "no" feeling right. The trip leader, Shaun Groves, gave her transformative advice: "There may be a lot of reasons for you to say no to this trip, but please, don’t let fear be one of them."

This forced her to confront her true motivation. Was she being pushed by fear or led by a love for the opportunity? This question became her new compass for every hard decision. It helps distinguish between real hardships and self-created anxieties. This pairs with another crucial shift in perspective: looking for "arrows" instead of answers. God rarely provides a complete, detailed map for our lives. Instead, as Freeman learned during her husband's difficult vocational transition, God often gives a faint vision of the future—an arrow pointing in a general direction. The goal is not to demand a clear answer but to trust the arrow, taking one step at a time, confident that the process of becoming is more important than the final outcome.

Narrator: Decision-making should not be a solitary act. While we must quiet external noise to hear our own inner voice, we also need a trusted community to help us process what we’re hearing. Freeman champions the idea of gathering "co-listeners"—a small, trusted group of people who don't offer advice but simply listen, ask clarifying questions, and help you hear yourself more clearly. This practice is modeled on the Quaker tradition of a "Clearness Committee." When her husband, John, was facing a vocational crisis, they gathered a group of friends who simply listened as he shared his grief and hopes. Through the process of being heard, his next step became clear. The goal wasn't for the group to provide an answer, but to create a space where the answer could emerge from within.

In addition to co-listeners, Freeman suggests finding a "No Mentor." This is someone you trust who excels at eliminating the unessential and helps you say no with confidence. For Freeman, this person is her sister, who reminds her of her core values when she's tempted to take on opportunities that don't align with her true calling. A No Mentor isn't impressed by "great opportunities" but instead asks if it aligns with the life you want to live. By surrounding ourselves with people who help us listen to ourselves and protect our priorities, we build a support system that fosters wise and authentic decision-making.

Narrator: The ultimate goal of doing the next right thing is not just to make better decisions, but to "come home to yourself." Freeman uses a poignant memory from her childhood to illustrate this. Every morning, she waited for the school bus at the end of a neighbor's driveway, which was plastered with "No Trespassing" signs. She lived with a low-grade anxiety, feeling like an unwelcome intruder. Years later, she realized she had put up the same "No Trespassing" signs on her own soul, treating herself with suspicion and judgment. She was standing at the edge of her own life, afraid to fully enter.

Coming home to yourself means becoming a gracious hostess to your own soul. It involves making peace with who you are—your personality, your gifts, your limitations. It means listening to the affirming words of others, like when a friend told Freeman she felt "pastored" by her, and recognizing the truth in them. It means choosing to believe the beautiful truths about yourself, even when it feels difficult. This journey of self-acceptance is the foundation upon which all other decisions rest. When you are at home in your own skin, you can walk into any room, not comparing or seeking approval, but with a quiet confidence that you belong because you are in Christ. You can then make choices not out of fear or a need to prove yourself, but from a place of wholeness and love.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from The Next Right Thing is that decision-making is not an outcome to be perfected, but a spiritual practice that forms our character. Emily P. Freeman masterfully dismantles the cultural pressure to have our lives figured out, replacing it with a gentle, grace-filled invitation to focus only on the step in front of us. By releasing our need for control and certainty, we create space to hear God's guidance, connect with our true selves, and trust the slow, unfolding process of our lives.

The book's challenge is both simple and profound: stop trying to solve your entire life today. Instead, look at the next ten minutes. What is the next right thing you can do to move toward love, not fear? Perhaps it’s closing a browser tab, sending an encouraging text, or simply taking a deep breath. In these small, faithful steps, a beautiful life is built.