The Road Not Taken

The Intersection That Changes Everything

It happens to everyone. You’re cruising along, thinking you’ve got things figured out, and then life suddenly throws you a fork in the road that looks less like a casual two-lane split and more like an episode of Black Mirror. One path is brightly lit, paved, and marked “Safe & Sensible”; the other is a shadowy twist of unknowns, mysterious possibilities, and—probably—bad Wi-Fi.

For me, that fork wasn’t just metaphorical. It was 2012, and I stood at an actual junction, staring down my future like it owed me an explanation.

I was on the cusp of two very different lives. One involved moving to Berlin to help launch an experimental art magazine—a project that sounded equal parts “pretentious” and “life-changing” depending on who you asked. The other was a glossy corporate marketing gig in Manhattan that, while not exactly exciting, came with a paycheck so solidly dependable it could probably win a Parent of the Year award.

Reader, I chose Door B. Yep—Manhattan, sleek business cards with raised lettering, the thrill of quarterly performance reviews, and happy hours in bars that smelled like lettuce juice and desperation. I told myself it was the “mature” decision. My parents nodded approvingly. My friends raised champagne glasses to my adulting prowess. And for a while, I convinced myself that I hadn’t actually boarded the wrong train.

But, like all great regrets, the other path—the one I didn’t take—started whispering to me.

Ghost Stories from Berlin

I sometimes torture myself by playing “what if” scenarios for Berlin. My internal monologue alternates between dark comedy and arthouse drama:

  • What if I had woken up every morning to the smell of coffee wafting through a sun-drenched studio loft dotted with abstract art and secondhand chairs? (The reality: it probably would’ve been instant coffee and folding chairs, but still, the romanticism persists.)
  • What if my office had been an open-air coworking space full of brooding writers and moody DJs discussing existentialism while eating vegan donuts?
  • What if I’d fallen in love with someone who wore a lot of black and said things like “time is an illusion” but in German?

Instead, I lived a life of suits and spreadsheets—a PowerPoint sorcerer for the kind of corporate overlords who could turn even “synergy” into a verb (and make you question your life while they did it). For over a year, my day-to-day existence had roughly the same energy as a rerun of The Office: sometimes funny, mostly beige, and marked by an overwhelming desire for something more.

Choose Your Own Adventure

We all have a Berlin—or a metaphorical one. That road not taken sits camped out in the back of our brains, popping up at the most inconvenient times. For me, it came in moments of monotony, like when I was trapped in yet another meeting about engagement metrics or making small talk about real estate prices at a Midtown rooftop bar.

By the time I finally walked away from Corporate America in favor of a literary consultant role—the kind of move people describe as “bold” but secretly think is “career suicide”—I had already learned a few things about making decisions and living with the consequences:

  1. You’ll romanticize the path you didn’t take. It’s inevitable. We glamorize the unknown because it gives us an escape hatch for the present. Sure, I could’ve been riding bikes along the River Spree in Berlin, but I also might’ve been crying over rent and rationing instant ramen. Fantasy is usually more fun than reality, but the trick is not to let it paralyze you.

  2. It’s okay to revisit an old dream. I didn’t move to Berlin, but I still made space for what that road represented: creative freedom. It came later than planned and wasn’t wrapped in the same shiny package, but I got there. Roads not taken don’t disappear; they just reroute.

  3. Your “wrong” turn can still shape something right. My longer-than-necessary stint in marketing taught me resilience (translation: how to survive soul-crushing emails) and a thick enough skin to weather rejection in the literary world. That job wasn’t my forever plan, but it added tools to my metaphorical toolkit.

The Sliding Doors Effect

Weirdly, my biggest decision-versus-regret epiphany didn’t hit me in some epically cinematic way. It came while I was walking through DUMBO on a freezing Brooklyn night, juggling a bag of takeout and an existential crisis. In the distance, the Manhattan Bridge glittered—a stunning mashup of old and new, grit and glory.

And it occurred to me: Maybe it’s less about which road you take and more about what you carry with you on the journey: a sense of curiosity, a willingness to pivot if things go south, and—if you’re like me—an endless supply of second-guessing but also second-chances.

Life isn’t tidy. We double back. We hit dead ends. Sometimes, we pack both a map and a compass and still end up very, very lost. But that’s okay. The point isn’t to have it all figured out—it’s to keep going.

A Note for Your Road Ahead

To anyone currently standing at a crossroads, weighing your options like a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire: Make the choice that feels right for now. It might be messy later, but the good news is this—you can always course-correct.

You’re not tied to one path for life. Say “yes,” make mistakes, and learn to pivot—and whether you’re on the Autobahn or stuck in rush hour traffic, remind yourself that your road will lead you somewhere worth going.

After all, Berlin will always be there.