I’ve recently found myself at a crossroads. I see two paths ahead of me so clearly. The first one is straight…narrow, but wide enough to accommodate. The weeds are trimmed, the gravel is refined, and the air is clear of fog and other impurities. It’s the kind of path one might take through a park on a Sunday afternoon. This is the path of comfort. The one that will lead to a life of safety and stability. I know where this path will end…I almost took it earlier this year. It is not a bad ending. The second path is different from the first. There is no gravel, for dirt is the only bedding. The vines hang from trees and snake every which way. The grass is overgrown and full of critters that burrow in its crevices. The mist obstructs the way ahead. All I see is a glimpse of sun but not enough to know if I’ll make it in time. 

Robert Frost wrote a poem that is exactly about this type of crossroads. You probably read it in your 7th grade English class: The Road Not Taken. It’s a wonderful poem, and a solid choice for middle schoolers to analyze. Personally, I prefer Mending Wall, but that is just me. While some may find it cliche to bring Frost into this conversation, he is often called “the people’s poet” for a reason. His poetry is accessible, and for all intents and purposes, relevant to the everyday human experience. 

I must admit that I have not thought about The Road Not Taken in a very long time. I glossed over it once for a poetry class in college, but that is the only other time I have read it in twelve years. However, as I’ve recently begun to question what exactly it is that I want out of my time on earth, my mind keeps wondering back to that image of two roads: one that is conventional and one that is not so conventional. 

In my mind the conventional road looks something like this: finding a career, falling in love, getting married, having children, and living the idyllic American life with a big fenced-in backyard and a church to call home on Sundays. All of this is done by the time you are 30. I mean it when I say this is a good and admirable life. It is a beautiful life, and the life that many of those closest to me have chosen. For the longest time, I desperately wanted this to be my life. To feel safe and secure and most likely spend the rest of my time in the town I grew up in. To always remain in close proximity to my parents. I was close to making this life a reality. Until, I realized that making a life-altering commitment was not something I was ready for. That perhaps my life was not meant to be grounded in stability (at least not yet). So, in January, I let go of that commitment and closed the door on the path of conventionality. 

I’ve been in limbo for basically this entire year. Up until about one month ago I could not even think more than a week ahead without getting overwhelmed. I did not want to envision the future—I just wanted to let it slap me in the face whenever it decided to arrive. The only time I felt like I could breathe was during the month I spent in Europe. Well, there were three days over a fall break as well, but that story is too precious to share with the world. I think I will keep it to myself for a while. 

If there is one thing I have learned during my 24 years of life, it is that a change of location will not fix your problems. However, staying in the same place will not necessarily fix them either. I believe it is a combination of things: location, mindset, how you spend your time, and the people you choose to spend your time with. This is not to say that I have a lot of problems in Carrollton, GA. Yes, there are some problems because of my location, but the major problem that I am having is with myself. I am simply yearning for something more. Something unexpected. Something that I cannot get if I remain where I am. 

All my life I have tied myself into neat little bows that make people smile when they pass. Perhaps they’d even like to put one on themself. It was not until this last year or so that I realized these bows were actually knots that I am desperate to untangle. To let fly wildly into the wind. The first step of the untangling comes with accepting that next year cannot look like this year. I have to take a risk even if it means saying goodbye (at least for a while) to those I hold near and dear to my heart. I have to choose discomfort. 

If I could share what the second path typically looks like I would, but truthfully it looks different for everyone. That is the point. I know what the first steps of mine are going to be, but I do not feel ready to tell the world. It’s too fragile to welcome into reality. What I do know is that the second path terrifies me. It is going to require more time, energy, and trust in myself than I have ever given before. It is the opposite of secure, and it could very well result in failure. But if I am afraid of one thing more than failure it is this: being on my death bed and telling those around me that I did not try something new because I was scared I would fail. I already know there are going to be difficult moments along path number two. Moments where I question if I am doing the right thing. Moments where I feel worthless and utterly alone. However, I think we can all agree that these moments would also appear on the stable path. Being unsure of the direction you are heading is called being human. Some of us just experience this uncertainty more than others, and that is okay. 

In all fairness, I do not think any of our journeys remain permanently fixed to one path or another. There are times where some of us start off on path number one and then veer off to number two and vice versa. I predict that my own path will eventually end up finding things like love, marriage, and children. It will definitely be a while, but I see stability in the future. But if for some reason those aspects are not in the cards for me, I am okay with that. I trust that my life will have meaning because of my own identity—not the identity others prescribe onto me. 

All of this is basically just to say that I am very lost at the moment but trying to find my way. I think most people feel lost at 24. Some of us just cope with it differently than others. And if you are someone who is yearning for something new or different, do not be afraid to take a step onto the path of uncertainty. It is okay to do something that most people around you do not do. It is okay to be yourself. If people don’t like it (or think it’s weird) oh well. The ones who are truly in your corner, will celebrate your authenticity. They will love you for being brave enough to make a change when you did not have to. Here is to the paths ahead and those of us who step blindly into the mist. Spoiler alert: it’s all going to be okay.