"Once upon a time, as I walked along in my journey, I came to a fork in the road. Stretched out before me were two roads. The first was a sand and gravel path that eventually led to a beautiful beach and glistening sea. The second was an inviting country road, made of dirt and mud. It wound through the woods to a peaceful cabin.
Both paths were inviting, and I felt as if either could be the home I had spent so long searching to find. So I sat for a moment and pondered. A friend of mine had recently walked that road to the beach, though there were many a time he wandered off the path and traveled other roads. From what he had told me, it was a wonderful path, and I felt that if I too traveled it, I would find some peace.
But none I knew had walked along the country road. And so, I began to walk it myself. It was comforting and pleasant. The smell of the pine trees, the sounds of the birds chirping, and the breath of fresh air in my lungs. But I saw footprints in the mud, and they were fresh. And I heard what I thought was the sound of a crying child somewhere among the trees. I began to doubt, and I turned away, returning to the fork.
This time, I made my way down the road to the beach. And it was pleasant journey. A wonderful path, just as that friend had described. It didn’t take long before I built my home on the beach, and in time, I moved that home to a boat on the sea. I spent many years out on the waters, feeling as if I was where I was meant to be.
But recently, a powerful storm came over the sea. With a mighty ferocity, my boat was thrown to the shores, broken. I tried to repair it, but the damage was irreversible. And as I looked out over the waters, the storm only intensified.
Now I find myself once again walking that country road. But it’s different this time. Though I can hear the birds chirping and smell the pines, I can see remnants of damage. Damage from years of powerful storms. Fallen trees, broken branches, places where floods seem to have washed away the road. The cabin is still intact, though a tall fence surrounds it, and the cabin has weathered.
I neared the cabin when I first journeyed this road. But my doubts stopped me from going inside. Back then, it was more open and inviting. But now, it’s protected – weary of intruders. In the mud and grass that surrounds it, I can see small footprints – like those of a child. Perhaps the crying child I thought I heard so long ago has grown and shares a connection to this cabin.
I can’t help but wonder: Would this road be different if I chose to stay in this cabin those many years ago? Would the storms have ravaged these woods still? I can’t answer these questions, and I can’t worry about what ifs. But I seek to make my home in this cabin. I shall pass this fence, do my best to repair this cabin, and in time, maybe I can restore these woods to what they were when I first walked them. I feel at home here, more at home than I’ve ever felt. Maybe this will be where I live out the rest of my days."
