When I was a young lad in university, the Navy came knocking. They were searching for bright minds to study nuclear engineering for submarines. Now, the smart thing they did—and credit where it’s due—was not to simply sign us up with a brochure and a handshake. No, they took us down into the belly of a submarine itself, let us taste the air, hear the hum of the engines, and feel the confinement of that steel tube. It was as if they knew that no man should commit to such a life without first understanding it. And, well, I understood it almost immediately: the submarine life wasn’t for me. Spending months in a metal tube underwater with a group of smelly men, scheduled toilet visits, and hardly a sliver of sunlight? I realized I could admire their courage from afar, but it wasn’t a life I could bear. That experience set me on a path—not one I would have chosen on my own—but one that ultimately led me to other paths, which led to still others. Life, I’ve come to see, is a labyrinth of roads, each leading to unexpected places, each teaching its own lesson.
The Heart of the Matter:
Every path we take, like friends —whether by choice, chance, or circumstance—shapes the journey of our lives. Some paths are fleeting, lasting only hours or days. Others stretch for months, years, or even a lifetime. And then there are those stubborn paths, the ones that cling to you like a shadow, no matter how far you think you’ve strayed. Careers are often like that, sticking with you because, for better or worse, life finds a way of circling you back to them. Sometimes it feels like you’re not choosing the path, but the path is choosing you.
And yet, some of the most defining roads aren’t chosen at all. They are handed down, inherited like a family heirloom—or perhaps like a family illness. Your parents, your upbringing, your place in the world—all of these can chart your course before you’ve even set foot on it. They create currents in the river of life, and while you might steer your little boat this way or that, you’re still caught in the flow. But here’s the thing: rivers don’t always flow one way. It’s hard, yes, but it is possible to paddle against the current, to fight upstream and find a new direction. Sometimes it’s a fight worth waging, though it will leave you with sore arms and aching muscles.
What I’ve learned, though, is that every path, no matter how long or treacherous, needs an exit—or at least the possibility of one. Even when the road stretches so far you can’t see the end, you should know that you can turn back, take a side trail, or blaze a new path altogether. Life doesn’t hand you a map. It gives you a series of choices, some clear and others muddied by circumstances. And every choice, every encounter, leads to another fork in the road. Sometimes those forks change everything. Sometimes they lead to nowhere. But always, they add to the story of who you are.
Looking back, I see how those paths—good and bad—shaped me. I see how the Navy’s submarine pitch, though a brief moment in my youth, became the first ripple in a series of events that carried me forward. And I see how the paths I’ve taken have intertwined with the ones handed to me, forming the web of my life.
If there’s one thing I’ve come to believe, it’s this: you don’t always get to choose the path you’re on, but you can choose how you walk it. You can choose to paddle harder, to find the exits, and even to enjoy the journey, no matter how winding or predetermined it might seem. Life’s paths don’t come with guarantees, but they do come with lessons—and perhaps that’s enough. After all, as the river flows, it carves the landscape of who we are, even if we’re too busy paddling to notice. And when you finally look back, you’ll find that it’s not the destination that mattered most, but the winding, unpredictable beauty of the journey itself.
The truth is, again we don’t always get to choose where our path begins, but we do get to choose how we walk it. And as we learn, it becomes our privilege—perhaps even our duty—to share that wisdom with others, to light the way where we can, and to remind them that they have the power to change direction if they need to. The river of life may flow strongly, but the human spirit is stronger.
So to anyone standing at a crossroads, wondering whether to stay or go, I say this: Pull up your anchor, set your sails, and go. The horizon is waiting, and every path, no matter how uncertain, is an invitation to grow.
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