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Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Where the Path Ends

Childhood is easy.

The path of our life is established by our parents. Let's assume they're good parents--a loving mother and father that have read Dr. Spock cover to cover. They record every precious moment of our lives as if we're the return of Mahatma Gandhi. If we're that lucky, the path will be wide, the terrain smooth and the food tasty.

They swing the machetes, clear the spider webs and hoe the soil so that our wobbly steps will be safe and our explorations fruitful. We eat, poop and watch is easy. The price for such direction and security is our freedom. Our parents tell what to do, that's all. They set the rules, we follow them, they maintain the path. That's the deal.

Eventually, we want our freedom. We want to grow up. And that's when the path narrows.

Little by little, our parents let us beat back the brush, fill the potholes and navigate over fallen trees without them. The road can get bumpy, muddy and wet. We can get tired and lost until, eventually, they turn the path over to us. It's all ours. And all we see are trees.

Where once we saw a trail, now there is only wilderness.

Swing your machete.

Find your path.


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