Sunday Edition: Crossroads
This is my Second Act
The Sunday Edition is Tuesday’s little sister—off-the-cuff updates I’d bring up over a coffee catch-up with a friend.
Years ago, I sat on a coffee shop patio and signed my divorce papers. It was an unassuming place for such a life-altering moment, but that day marked a quiet, powerful turning point. I was at a crossroads, standing at the edge of a life that no longer fit and staring down the unknown of starting over. Back then, I didn’t realize that freedom came at a cost.
I used to describe myself as adaptable, flexible, someone who could handle change with grace. But when everything I had once relied on was gone, I wasn’t so sure. I liked structure. I liked safety. And in the absence of both, I was forced to reckon with the fear I’d been carrying for years: the fear of failing, of choosing wrong, of being untethered.
The thing about freedom is that it’s a double-edged sword. The best part is that you can do anything. The worst part? You can do anything.
Reaching a turning point in life is a rare and somewhat daunting experience. In most cases, it doesn’t feel like we’re making choices at all. Life often seems more like following a set of instructions: go to school, find a job, get married, have children, stay in your comfort zone. The options are already mapped out, and it doesn’t feel like a decision-making process; it feels like simply going through the motions because that’s what’s expected and what everyone else is doing as well.
The romantic part of me, the one that still believed there was something worth chasing, found a strange kind of thrill in the uncertainty. It was in that space that I realized I was the one who had to write the map. I had to ask myself, What do I want to do with the rest of my life? That question alone was its own quiet flicker of power, the moment I began to understand that the story was mine to tell, even if I didn’t yet know where it was headed. With no safety net, I was forced to look forward and choose a direction. It was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I remember reading a quote back then that said:
“One day you’ll realize your dream died because you chose comfort over effort.”
I wonder if that’s what I had been doing to myself.
It takes courage to sit with uncertainty, to risk disappointing those who always saw you as the safe bet. We’re taught that the well-marked path is the sensible one, the responsible one. But shouldn’t there be joy too? I’ve wrestled not only with the need for stability, but with a deeper desire to look back someday and feel proud of the life I chose. To know I took risks, whether they worked out or not, and that I didn’t let fear be the loudest voice. That kind of life, the one worth telling about, starts with the choices we make when no one else is watching.
But what carried me through, and what still anchors me, is my role as a mother. My children needed me then, and they need me now. They reminded me of my purpose when I felt lost. They gave me reason to stay grounded, to keep building even when I wasn’t sure what I was building toward.
That season of my life taught me that there’s rarely a clear sign or perfect moment. Sometimes you move forward simply because you must. And slowly, step by step, the path begins to appear. I didn’t have a map, but I had the will to keep going and that was enough.
I’m no longer at that crossroads. The decisions I made then have shaped where I stand today. It’s not a sweeping destination, but a solid place. One where I feel more like myself than I ever did before. The story is still unfolding, but I’m not drifting anymore. I’m writing it on my terms.
Maybe the bravest thing I can do is be unsure and still move forward. Freedom isn’t about chasing the perfect dream, it’s about choosing differently, even if the way is unclear.
Back then, I didn’t know what would come next. But for the first time in a long time, the story felt like mine.
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