The summer after college, I found myself at a literal crossroads: Highway 95 heading back to Idaho or Interstate 90 toward the glimmering promise of Seattle. My trusty old Subaru was packed to the brim—half thrift store finds, half naive optimism—with my John Prine cassette crooning softly in the background, like a soundtrack to my indecision. I had a decision to make: move home to Coeur d’Alene, where life was cozy and familiar, or chase a sort of big-city dream that barely had a name in my head somewhere west of the Cascades.

Spoiler alert: I chose the road back home.

But here’s the thing about roads not taken: they don’t just disappear when you pick one route. That other path lingers, like your ex’s Netflix password saved in your browser, whispering, “What if?”

The Romance of Roads Not Taken

The concept of “what might have been” is endlessly fascinating because it’s always glittering at us like an unattainable crush. And it’s not just about the sweeping life decisions, like which city to live in or which college to attend; this mindset worms its way into our daily lives too. Have you ever stood frozen in the pasta aisle for 15 minutes wondering if penne or rigatoni will lead to a better dinner party experience? That’s the romanticism of the road not taken. And honestly, rigatoni always feels riskier, but isn’t that the point?

In relationships, this mythos is magnified. When a relationship ends, people talk a lot about “the one that got away.” But maybe, the one who didn’t get away—the person you dated longer than you should have or the one who left your record collection out in the rain—was really the road not taken. That past partner who irritates you even in hindsight? They were a decision too, and maybe one you got wrong.

I think about this when I think about Seattle, my own hypothetical ex. Would I have lived in Capitol Hill in some overpriced studio, learning to order oat milk like a proper urbanite? Maybe. Would I have wandered used bookstores looking for my “meet-cute” while holding a latte in one hand and an overanalyzed copy of Joan Didion in the other? Possibly. The Seattle version of me sounds enchanting—if a little insufferable—but the truth is, I’ll never know.

Instead, I drove home to Coeur d’Alene and spent a summer washing tourists’ canoes at my parents’ resort.

The Clarity That Comes With Looking Back

Here’s the thing: looking back, I don’t regret that decision, but I do wonder who I might’ve become if I had carried on west that day. Reflection is powerful, and it doesn’t have to reek of regret. Revisiting “roads not taken” is like getting a letter from an alternate reality version of yourself—one who wore those red cowboy boots you chickened out of buying.

But hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. In relationships, we often cling to that clarity long after the moment has passed. You think back to that partner or that decision, and suddenly it all feels incredibly obvious. “Well of course you shouldn’t have dated someone who referred to themselves exclusively in third person.” Or “Maybe leaving Idaho for someone who didn’t recycle was a red flag after all.”

What we sometimes forget, though, is that every decision we make plants a seed. A path not taken isn’t an empty void; it’s fertile ground for wondering and learning. You just don’t get to tend to that particular patch of soil.

Navigating the "What Ifs"

So, what do we do with all these roads not taken? How do we manage the “what-ifs” without getting tangled in nostalgia or regret? (Spoiler: It’s not by Googling your ex “just to see how they’re doing.” Put the phone down.)

Here’s what’s worked for me:

  1. Write It Out
    When I get too in my head about Seattle or the me I might’ve become, I write her a letter. Sometimes it’s full of gratitude, other times it’s full of sass—“Imaginary Me, have fun paying $10 for arugula!” Whatever spills onto the page, it’s a way of processing the choice without spiraling.

  2. Romanticize Where You Are Now
    Roads not taken often look shinier because memory smooths out the potholes. Trick your brain into doing the same for what you DID choose. In my case? I get to kayak after work and eat huckleberry pie made by someone I know personally. It’s not oat milk lattes, but it works.

  3. Talk About It
    I don’t mean overanalyzing every breakup with a friend (though sometimes catharsis looks like eating pizza on the floor with your bestie). Talking about the choices you’ve made with someone you trust can provide perspective. Chances are, roads not taken feel universal. Everyone wonders about what they missed, and sharing those feelings can be deeply validating.

  4. Remember Options Are Endless
    Honestly, your life isn’t determined by one choice. Before you know it, there will be another crossroads, another opportunity to take a leap. (Just, you know, maybe double-check the next leap doesn’t land you with someone who sends you Venmo requests for their Netflix subscription.)

Embracing The Journey

I didn’t move west that day, but I still look west often, eyes scanning the mountains as trains snake toward the horizon. That road, however, didn’t disappear just because I turned the wheel toward home. Memories, like roads, loop back in surprising and unexpected ways.

The life I’ve built here—quiet, full of family and friendships, novels written during cold winters—is one that I love. But every now and then, when I hear a busker playing Iron & Wine on an acoustic guitar, I wonder: Did “Seattle Me” find her meet-cute? Did she ever find the record shop? I don’t know. Maybe that’s the beauty of it.

Because life isn’t about the single road you take; it’s about how you make the most of the one you’re on. Ravishing sunsets and unexpected side trails? They’re everywhere—here, or miles west where the moss grows a little thicker.

Take it from me, a girl who got lost in a Subaru but found her way home anyway: the roads not taken can teach you just as much as the ones that you do.