By some karmic twist of the universe, I almost didn’t pursue writing. Gasp, I know. We wouldn’t be here, enjoying this cozy chat over pixels and vibes, if I had taken the other fork in the road. The one that felt a little safer, a little more structured, but distinctly lacking in the chaos and sparkle I now associate with my life.

My not-taken road? Teaching. Sitting here now, sipping my oat milk latte and stealing glances at the autumn waves in Kits Beach, I think about how fully my life could’ve diverged—how parallels exist that feel so close yet remain untouchable. Let’s dive into that what-if, shall we? And maybe, through this reflection, you’ll think about your own “road not taken” with a touch more clarity, laughter, or even grace.

The Crossroads: Safety vs. Passion

I almost became an English teacher. It checked all the practical boxes: stability, full benefits, that internalized need to fulfill my immigrant parents’ dreams of a financially secure daughter (“Teacher very good job! Pension!”). I imagined teaching Shakespearean sonnets like deadpan comedy or choreographing slam poetry sessions on rainy Vancouver Fridays, yet somehow, it never clicked. It was like trying to swipe right on someone who matches all your filters but doesn’t make your stomach flutter. Something essential was missing.

On the flip side, writing was my unruly lover—the one who made no promises but whispered to-go adventures at 2 a.m. Writing isn’t the stable safety net parents dream about during nights of sleepless sacrifice. It’s messy, unstructured, and deeply intoxicating. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to commit to a career so full of unknowns. The question lingered like that awkward final text in a situationship: do I take the steady road? Or the uncertain, gloriously dizzy-making one?

Making the Leap From Playlists to Poetry

Remember that scene in La La Land when Emma Stone’s Mia performs that audition-ending monologue about leaping into the unknown for the sake of art? My leap wasn’t quite that cinematic—no spontaneous slow claps—but it was pivotal nonetheless.

There was an internship at a small literary magazine in Granville Island. Unpaid, of course, because capitalism loves to test how badly writers want it, but full of opportunity to tell stories and refine my voice. My application was sitting idly while I prepped my teaching school forms. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the magazine gig; I just feared stepping into its terrifying ambiguity.

A friend—who, ironically, was a teacher—nudged me over bubble tea one evening. “You’re way too funny and romantic to teach middle school kids how to diagram sentences. Isn’t it obvious?” Maybe what pushed me wasn’t courage but the need to prove him right—or at least to not botch an opportunity for snatching a little magic back from the universe.

I got the magazine gig and never returned to the teaching application. From there, it snowballed. Writing classes, freelance gigs, my stint in Melbourne where my prose wrestled with accents and coffee culture. Was it easy? Nope. Did I spend many ramen-noodle months questioning my life choices? Absolutely. But the passion I felt—creatively broke or not—reminded me why this road mattered.

The Fantasies of the “Other Me”

I’ll admit to occasionally binge-watching my parallel-universe self, like a secret Netflix drama. Teacher Willow definitely owns more cardigans, thrives in second-hand bookstores, and probably has a knack for convincing relucant teenagers that Wuthering Heights isn’t boring.

But there’s also a wistfulness to her life. Would Other-Me spend nights dreaming of writing instead of dutifully lesson-planning? Would she gaze at the stacks of ungraded essays and wish she were penning one herself? Romantically, I still think she’d sneak off to Tofino on weekends, writing by oceans and sleeping under star-strewn skies. Some things, you can’t erase.

Yet here’s what I know that Teacher-Me might not: this is it. The messy, nonlinear, seat-of-the-pants journey is precisely the thing that keeps me alive beyond the practicalities.

What Choosing Taught Me About Relationships

Cue twist: reflecting on this road not taken gave me serious insight when it came to relationships—romantic or otherwise.

Ever meet someone and wonder, “What if I don’t choose them?” You imagine the alternatives: staying single, saying yes to another option, or (let’s be real) moving to a remote village, eating only mangoes, and befriending tropical birds. Forks in the road don’t just define careers; they define love, too.

Here’s what I learned:
- The Easy Choice Isn’t Always Right: Relationships, like career paths, can be framed in practical terms. They check the boxes, keep you comfortable, but lack the deeper growth or thrill you truly crave.
- Passion Is Scary—But Real: Whether it’s committing to unpredictable work or an unpredictable person, passion asks for courage. You dive in, uncertain if there’s a landing pad but utterly compelled by the thrill.
- It’s Okay to Wonder: Fantasies about other paths don’t invalidate your current one. They’re normal. Acknowledge them, but don’t let them make you doubt the value of being present.

Own Your Chosen Road

Let’s get real: we all wonder about the paths we didn’t pick. A different career, a missed date, the sliding doors moment of saying no when yes hung in the air like possibility. But wondering doesn’t mean regret—not if you learn from it.

For me, each moment of questioning ultimately reminds me why I chose this path. Because nothing—not even a steady paycheck—could replace the thrill of words spilling out, messy and glorious, onto the page.

So, here’s my charge to you: don’t fear the road not taken. Whether it’s relationships, career decisions, or whether to eat the sushi or go for tacos on date night, trust your gut. And if you’re still wondering, that’s okay. Stay open-hearted, ask yourself the big scary questions, and maybe one day, like me, you’ll sip an oat milk latte in your version of Kits Beach and realize that where you’ve arrived—even if it’s different from someone else’s big picture—is exactly where you want to be.