The Fork in the Road: Reflections on the Path I Didn’t Choose

Growing up in Nigeria, my mother loved a good proverb—her words carried the weight of a thousand ancestors. Perhaps my favorite? "No one tests the depth of a river with two feet." It’s a poetic way of saying, "Hey, don’t let indecision drown you." But here’s the thing: every choice we make in life means leaving another alluring path unexplored. And sometimes, no matter how confident you were in your decision, the road not taken whispers, “What if?” It’s both an occasional tug and, let me be real, a full-blown scream in my case.

Let me take you back a few years ago, sitting in London, wearing the scarf I pretend is trendy but is really meant to protect me from the city’s passive-aggressive drizzle. I was sipping a steaming cup of Earl Grey (feeling unnecessarily posh, as one does), staring at a job offer that could take me in a wildly different direction than where I’ve landed now. It was a flashy, corporate gig with promises of leather desk chairs, sparkling bonuses, and something called a “team-building retreat” in the Alps. Fancy, right?

But, against the louder-than-life opinions of friends, colleagues, and one particularly animated auntie, I turned it down. I stayed on the NGO path instead—it had meaning for me (something everyone insists is noble until rent is due). Now, living this beautifully messy, love-your-purpose life, I often wonder, what if I had said yes? What if I swapped my current world of storytelling and advocacy for glossy boardrooms? What would this alternate Harriet look like? Would she wear power suits instead of thrifted Ankara dresses? And most importantly, would she have better luck on the dating scene?

The Door That Stayed Shut

Every significant decision in life feels like a Choose Your Own Adventure book—except there’s no flipping back to undo a choice. You stand at the door of one path and politely decline the key to another. For me, turning down that corporate job wasn’t just about the career; it was a choice embedded in how I viewed love, life, and long-term happiness. Let me explain.

Those who know me understand that I’ve always been someone who chases connection, not convenience. Building relationships—be it with my soulmates or my coworkers—compels me. I imagined that walking into a high-powered corporate gig might isolate me from that. I worried the tenderness I’ve cultivated through my work across Africa—learning to sit with people, listen, and lean into vulnerability—might wither in sterile meeting rooms. And between us? I was scared I’d become just another LinkedIn flex post, writing “#grateful” while secretly longing for nights dancing to Burna Boy under Abuja’s starry skies.

But the other path—the one not chosen—calls sometimes, especially during romantic lulls or Netflix marathons that forbid me to “Still Watch.” What if different circumstances had led me to meet “my person” on that side of the fork? Maybe the stress of deadlines would’ve introduced me to a fellow overworked analyst during happy hour—a rom-com plot just waiting to write itself.

Love, Lies, and Sliding Doors

Isn’t it funny how love—and life in general—feels so intertwined with where you physically are and how you show up in a space? It’s the ultimate Sliding Doors experience. In one alternate universe, maybe Corporate Harriet dated someone who bonded with her over matching Excel spreadsheets or their shared disdain for budget meetings. Would I have gotten married by now? Would Auntie Funke finally smile approvingly instead of making her biweekly “still single” phone calls?

Of course, relying on “what-ifs” is a dangerous game—especially when discussing romance. Romance, ironically, isn’t about clean-cut PowerPoint projections; it’s about showing up messy but trying anyway. And every choice—even the one that feels like a non-choice—is part of that mess.

Choosing this life of advocacy and storytelling reflects everything I love about connection. It’s given me more room for serendipity—a chance to meet interesting people over long, soulful conversations rather than five-minute speed-networking intros. That doesn’t mean this path has been easy. The NGOs were meaningful work, sure, but on the bad days, they were also long days. Combine that with London’s brand of unique chaos (which involves overpriced oat milk and folks who won’t say “hello” on public transport), and you get spells of feeling untethered, as though I chose wrong.

Yet something sacred happened between all of this busy striving and wondering: I learned to trust that the decision I made was valid.

How the Road Not Taken Shapes the One You’re On

So, what’s the takeaway here? Am I living my best life while not-so-secretly side-eyeing Corporate Harriet? How do you make peace with your choices, especially when the grass on the other side looks impeccably green, dare I say, even AstroTurf perfect?

Here’s what I’ve learned along the way:

  1. Regret Isn’t the Enemy—Confusion Is.
    I’ve found that regret often comes disguised as longing. Wondering about the path not taken isn’t always an indictment of the choices you’ve made. Instead, those lingering thoughts might clarify what you value. I used to think I regretted passing on that job, but truly, I missed the idea of what stability represented. Working in advocacy may not come with bonuses, but I’ve built stability in other ways—like nurturing friendships that feel like family.

  2. Every Path Leaves Breadcrumbs.
    Life is a relentless recycler. Even the things you say “no” to have surprising ways of returning in new forms. For instance, while I never built a corporate career, I’ve had countless opportunities to write for professional networks or collaborate with amazing juggernauts I never would’ve expected. I may not have taken the flashier path, but its essence still informs the path I’m on.

  3. Celebrate That Your “What If” Includes Love
    Speaking of relationships, the roads not taken are excellent hibernating habitats for self-doubt. But what’s life if not messy and bittersweet? Maybe I haven’t randomly met someone over burnt pitch-deck deadlines, but this path has slowed me down to understand myself. Learning who you are is the most romantic journey of all (cue cheesy music). The better you understand your unchosen paths, the more intentional you become about whichever path you build.

Conclusion: No Wrong Roads

If you saw me now, perched at a Lagos café, editing this piece, the rain pouring beautifully despite October’s heat? You’d smile at the Harriet who chose this life—every bump and grace along the way. Sure, Corporate Harriet might’ve been an excellent case-study protagonist for Shondaland. But the life I’ve chosen is one where love—romantic or otherwise—is my compass. And that’s no mistake.

So, if you’re facing your own fork in the road, here’s what I’ll leave you with: You’re allowed to wonder about the other path, but don’t let it overshadow the beauty of where you are. Whether your road feels like a scenic Nigerian hillside or a sweaty Lagos traffic jam, it’s still your road. Dance on it. Fall in love with it. And trust that, in its own messy way, it’s leading you exactly where you need to go.