The road less travelled isn’t always so
Do you ever get so caught up with life you forget what you’re capable of? Do you feel like you’ve been working so hard chasing your dream, only to realise you may have gone too far south?
This part of town, the winding endless roads I once saw as carefree and wild are now haunting and burdensome. It reeks of loneliness, of solitude and ego gone awry. I see a fork in the distance and it’s a familiar one. It’s a signboard I’ve seen before, one that I’ve even mocked with ridicule, bewildered at those who chose that path. It seemed to lead nowhere other than a row of neatly-filed houses with freshly pruned porches. The cars that went that way all looked the same. They were of a certain brand, a certain class, and the people in it wore the exact same style of clothing. From the highway where I was, the clouds guiding the cars in always looked dull and heavy. It was always gloomy over there.
At least it was, compared to where I thought I was headed. The road ahead toward the south was always exciting. The valleys and hills bore new horizons each time and there was always something to look out to, something to get distracted by. I’d drive for hours and hours, sometimes to exhaustion tempted at every fork to take that gloomy turning in — it seemed like a shortcut. And just as the turn comes up, the view in front dazzles with a view I’ve yet to see. I decide to chug along, fuelled by the excitement of what this road now brings.
It’s a pattern I now recognise. The road I’m on stretches forever, the destination still nowhere in sight. It sometimes feels like an all too familiar loop, one that I’ve gone around over and over again. Recently the weather has been rough and under this harsh light, the signs I once saw as adventure and freedom now read plainly as toil and struggle.
Somehow this time, the right turn on the fork in front looks almost enviable. The cars turning in look sparkly and shiny, and they’re all different. The people inside look somewhat dressy, like they’ve just come from the best party. Even the sky has a hue of pink — a colour that I’ve never seen in this part of town before. It’s almost beckoning me to turn in.
I’m at the point of exhaustion. Even without looking, I know that if I keep going, it’ll be another few hundred miles till I come across a fork leading this way again. I almost don’t want to look ahead, afraid that what I see will tease me to delusion. I’ve been on the road now for too long, the white houses and neat porches on the right feel comforting and maybe even perfect. Have I driven all this way only to realise that home was always around the corner? Or am I truly just lost?
