I thought a lot today about the roads we take and, as a consequence, the ones we have to pass with no more than a glance. Because sometimes we get a chance to walk a little way down such a road, and glimpse a life we might have had. Even though we’re happy with the life we’ve chosen, even though we wouldn’t change it, seeing another path can still hurt. It’s a hard little pain deep inside your chest, confined behind the walls of your heart because it must be hidden away and never acknowledged. If you tell someone it hurts, they will never believe that you don’t regret.
The passion that has to stay a hobby.
The person you could so easily love.
The places you will never live.
The adventures you will never have.
Sometimes it seems so unfair that you only get one life. I don’t mean reincarnation, because with that you have to start over and still only get to do one thing at once. I mean it would be wonderful to be able to split yourself into different parts so you can pursue each passion and never have to choose.
Then I could be:
A full-time writer (one of the other personalities can pay the bills)
A business woman
Some kind of coach/therapist/not quite sure but along those lines
A bookshop owner
But every choice we make, every thing we choose to prioritise over another, helps to make us who we are. As writers, we take all those untravelled roads and file them away in our imagination, waiting for them to turn into stories.