“Would you still choose Door #1 if you knew what was behind Door #2?”

There comes a moment in everyone’s life when you have to make that choice—a choice you know will ripple through your future in ways you can barely comprehend in the moment. For me, it happened on a warm August evening a few years back, in a café tucked into the corner of a bustling plaza in Madrid. And no, this isn’t one of those romantic stories where I ran into a soulful-eyed stranger and decided to throw my life into disarray for love (though, wouldn’t that be cinematic?). This was about me, a suitcase of dreams, and whether I would get on the flight that would take me back home, or the one that would deposit me in a job I’d wanted my whole life.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t take the job. At least, not that one. And sometimes, I think of the version of myself who did—Martin 2.0, let’s call him. Does he eat empanadas under the Santiago sun? Is he fluent in Chilean slang? Did he, perhaps, meet someone who makes him smile at 6 a.m. during those bleary pre-coffee moments?

These thoughts haunt me at times, but mostly, they intrigue me. After all, we’re all just improvising through this thing called life—and reflection is as much a part of the process as action. Here's what that choice taught me about missed chances, self-discovery, and why some paths are better left untaken.

The Temptation of the Road Not Taken

We romanticize "what could have been" the way some people romanticize billionaire love interests in romance novels—idealized, perfect, with zero morning breath or emotional baggage. The road not taken always comes shrouded in mystery, like an indie film with a cryptic poster. For me, the allure was profound.

The job offer? A dream gig with an NGO that didn’t just knock on the door of the international diplomacy world—it had the keys to every hidden chamber. It was everything I thought I wanted, and yet, something in my gut murmured against it. Mostly because it came with a hefty cost: permanently leaving the Navajo Nation where I’d recently reconnected with my cultural roots.

The life I'd started rebuilding at home was a tapestry of family, subtle yet meaningful traditions, and rediscovering who I was beyond a résumé. I had tripped my way into that realization, of course, thinking a refund policy existed for life milestones. There wasn’t. And standing on that metaphorical crossroads in Madrid, every part of me ached to split in two, achieving both.

Sliding Doors, Shared Realities

So, I made my call: I boarded the flight home. A month later, I watched my mentor take my would-be position from his dusty Instagram account—a view from a sun-drenched sidewalk café in Santiago. And I almost let myself wallow. But here’s the thing about choosing intentionally: once you own your choice, you start to see what’s blooming on your side of the garden.

Flash forward a few weeks after returning, and the community project I'd casually joined started pulling me in deeper. I found myself organizing art workshops for Navajo youth, using traditional weaving techniques as a method for storytelling. It dawned on me that I wasn’t losing out on adventure—I was building roots in my own kind of story.

The truth? Every choice is a sliding door. For people who’ve ever broken up with “The One…But Not Really,” you get where I’m going with this. The version of you who stays in the relationship doesn’t get the self-reliance adventure of the post-breakup era. The version of you who leaves? They might miss out on Tuesday date nights with tacos and tequila. Either way, you’re forging a path that serves you in a way the other one might not have.

The Grass Isn’t Always Greener—But Sometimes, It’s Equally Green

Here’s the big takeaway: the other road isn’t always the “right road”—it’s just a different road. I think back sometimes and wonder whether Martin 2.0 is any happier than I am. Does he have different stories, loves, and regrets? Of course. But I suspect he’s also wondering, "What’s Martin 1.0 up to these days? Did he ever finish that blanket he was weaving?”

Because the truth is, fulfillment isn’t dictated by the decisions we don’t make. It’s in what we do with the ones we do make.

Take breakups, for example. You often hear people ask, “What if I had stayed?” But the better question is, “What did leaving open up for me?” While one path might’ve kept you safe and comfortable, the leap often forces growth—new hobbies (ceramics, anyone?), friendships, or even just getting reacquainted with the sound of your own thoughts.

So, is the grass greener on the other side? Maybe. But it might be just as green, and you’d never know unless you committed to watering your side first.

How to Quiet the “What If’s” and Embrace the “What Is”

Let’s get practical for a second. If you’re someone who feels like they’re permanently straddling two paths, here’s how to make peace with the one you’re on:

  • Keep a “reasons why” list: Write down all the reasons you chose your current road. These will serve as reality checks when nostalgia or doubt creeps in.
  • Romanticize your choices: We spend so much time romanticizing the things we don’t do—why not direct some of that energy toward the life you are living? You made it here for a reason. Celebrate it!
  • Make space for pivoting: Let’s be clear: no path is nailed down forever. Regret? That’s optional and reversible. Life pivots faster than Ross Geller with a couch.

When in doubt, remember that there’s a version of yourself somewhere romanticizing the choice you made, wishing they had the courage to do what you did.

Conclusion: There’s No Going Back, and That’s Okay

The funny thing about life is that it stretches in unexpected ways. I didn’t board the flight to Santiago, but what I did do was commit to a road that felt complex, deeply connected, and—dare I say it—right for me at the time. And if one day the other path feels like it’s calling again? I’ll lace up my metaphorical hiking boots and take a detour.

The road not taken doesn’t disappear—it’s just waiting for you to meet it at a different fork in the journey. And who knows? Maybe Martin 2.0 will meet me there for an empanada. Life’s funny like that.