Bad Poetry. Good Decision.
Twenty-some years ago, two roads diverged and I —
I took the one more traveled.*
I was a college sophomore and it was time to declare a major. I was leaning toward English on the literature track. I had entered the CU Boulder College of Arts and Sciences undeclared but was learning that English classes came easily to me. Analyzing literature and writing papers about what I had discovered in the writings of mostly dead white guys didn’t take a ton of effort. And since I was working my way through school with a couple of part-time jobs, I was up for anything that was going to get me a degree without hours and hours of study each night. I was almost certain about my choice and had all but turned in my declaration to my academic advisor. But then, just as the snow was starting to really pile up on Norlin Quad, my Intro to Poetry workshop instructor asked if I had ever considered submitting a portfolio and applying to the creative writing track.
The question stopped me. Was it really a possibility? It had come as a surprise, especially after a couple of harsh and somewhat painful critiques of my work earlier in the term. I was almost twenty years old, full of drama and emotion, and I loved writing more than just about anything. I wanted so badly to be able to create worlds with my words and now Maria, a hopelessly cool M.F.A. candidate, was telling me that I might just have what it would take.
I spent a couple weeks thinking about it. Hard. I dreamed about joining the hopelessly cool in small workshops where we’d pull apart each other’s work so it could be stitched back together even better than before. I imagined what it might be like to get published and maybe even win some acclaim. But, in the end, practicality won out. I couldn’t see how going down the creative writing path would pave a secure future for myself. And as a super broke college student eking by on Stafford loans, Pell Grants, plus whatever I earned folding jeans at the Gap, I felt like I had to make the pragmatic choice. I declared English, literature track at the beginning of the next semester.
Did that decision make all the difference?
Probably.
Because, without having been an English literature major, I might not have ended up in law school. (After all, what does one do with an English degree besides teaching or law school?) And, without being absolutely miserable my first semester as a 1L, I might not worked with a career coach to figure out that the legal world wasn’t for me. And then I might not have ended up in advertising for as long as I did. And without that decade I spent in advertising, I may not have ended up here. Doing this work…
I don’t regret the path I took. But I do sometimes wonder about the one I didn’t. I think that’s only human.
Now that I’m in my early forties, I have a lot of empathy for the nineteen-year-old me who had to make the decision. For a lot of very real reasons, she chose to follow her head rather than her heart. Would she have been a great creative writer? Maybe. There was some promise in that portfolio but there was also a lot of emo-charged word vomit. Did she make the “right” decision? Maybe. There’s really no way to know because all the could-a, should-a, would-as are simply conjecture at this point. But did she make a good decision? I think so. She worked with the info she had and made a choice that kept her moving forward. That’s more than a lot of us are able to do when we’re standing stuck at a fork in the road.
If I could go back to those couple weeks of decision-making agony, I’d tell her this:
Very few decisions will irrevocably f*$k things up for the entire rest of your life. Of course there are exceptions. But most decisions that feel like life or death really aren’t. You pick one route or you pick another. Maybe your destination(s) will change because of your choice but you’ll almost certainly end up exactly where you were supposed to be anyways. (I know, I know. My mid-life perspective is showing… I don’t think my twentysomething self would have believed this one.)
A good decision doesn’t mean you figure out the “right” or “perfect” answer. In fact, thinking there’s a right answer often keeps us from making any decision at all. And that’s a decision in and of itself. A “good” decision simply means you know you’ll walk away proud of how you arrived at your answer.
Taking a break from puzzling it through might give you the clarity you need. I remember thinking things through ad nauseam — and I do mean literally ‘to sickness.’ I’ve even done so on a few occasions since then. But I’ve gotten a little wiser with time and have learned that taking a break from the puzzling can sometimes lead to the clarity I’m seeking.
You’re not alone. Yes, ultimately only you can decide which direction to go. But you have plenty of friends and trusted advisors who can help give you perspective. And sometimes just a little bit of perspective can give you what you need to make a good decision. (Refer back to Point #1).
What do you think of my advice to a younger self? What would you say? And, how might it help you the next time you stand at your own fork in the road?
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* Thanks to Robert Frost for the inspiration. Even if “The Road Not Taken” was never meant to be taken as seriously as it has been.
Standing at a fork in the road and need some help making your own good decision? I work with clients to tap into their courage and authenticity to do just that. I’d be delighted to partner with you in your journey. Learn more about working with me here.