there have been times when a clear path would have been my choice. something that was predictable, “normal”, serene. a path upon which i wouldn’t have to ask a lot of questions about direction. sense-making would be easy; “right” choices would be obvious.
how many times have i hoped for a sticky note to float down from the heavens above, simple instructions listed like on an ikea bookshelf leaflet. how many times have i wondered about how to forge through the muddy waters, how to get where i can see but not touch. a clear path seems maybe too much to ask. we seek mentors to aid us, to ask tough, blunt questions. expecting candid answers, they help us see. perhaps we would miss too many lessons – or just too much – along the way were we to have a clear path. there is no “normal”.
the elderly hiker in the woods approached from the opposite direction. his hat pulled down over his forehead and his jacket zipped up keeping him warm along the trail, he smiled, inviting a response, and said, “i cleared the path for you. it’s all clear.”
we laughed and thanked him, but i know we both wished he meant it literally. in a life sense.