Paths Within the Archway

I just moved into the new city. The air buzzed with excitement and possibility, every street corner holding the promise of a new adventure. New city, new job, new opportunity —it all felt within reach, yet the prospect of change stirred a blend of exhilaration and fear within me. What if this is a mistake and I’ll be repeating the same pattern over and over again?

Anyway, not everything is under my control, but I can control few things, so I decided to take up morning running. 

That summer morning at 6 am, when the city was quiet and the shops were still closed, I laced up my running shoes and hit the pavement. The sun had just begun its ascent, casting a golden glow over the city streets. As I ran along a route by the river.

I found solace in the rhythm of my morning runs. Each step along the scenic route by the river in the historic city immersed me deeper into the rich tapestry of centuries-old stories woven into the cobblestone streets and towering architecture. The crisp morning air filled my lungs with a sense of vitality, and with every breath, I felt more alive than ever before.

As I ran, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of my surroundings—the way the sunlight danced on the surface of the river, the way the ancient buildings seemed to whisper secrets of days gone by. It was a scene straight out of a postcard, a snapshot of a moment frozen in time.

And amidst the quietude of the early morning hours, I felt a sense of profound gratitude wash over me. Gratitude for the opportunity to start anew, to forge my own path in this vibrant city. Gratitude for the simple joy of being alive and the boundless potential that lay ahead.

With each passing moment, I felt more connected to the city, more attuned to its rhythms and its pulse.

After a while, I spotted a beautiful wisteria archway along my path. I got mesmerized by it and drawn to it: I started running toward it, and the world blurred around me.

 I had this urging feeling that I need to get there as soon as possible! 10 more steps, 9, 8… faster, 7, 6, 5, … faster .. 4, 3, 2 … and then I leaped forward.

It was nothing like I expected: I found myself in a realm beyond comprehension. Lights danced before my eyes, accompanied by the distant echoes of gunshots, the roar of planes, and the unmistakable chaos of an unfamiliar world.

I was not alone.

Before me stood countless versions of myself, each from a different era, each bearing witness to the passage of time in their own unique way. There was the brave soldier, the carefree hippie, the futuristic scientist, the cigar-smoking spaceship pilot, and the artist lost in the beauty of the wisterias.

It was not just about what we had done or what we would become, but rather, the essence of who we were—our fears, our dreams, our aspirations.

As I stood amidst the myriad versions of myself, a profound sense of peace washed over me, enveloping me in its gentle embrace. It was a tranquility that transcended words, a quiet understanding that whispered of the interconnectedness of all things.

In this surreal space where echoes of the past and whispers of the future intertwined, I found myself surrounded by versions of myself from different epochs. Some were noble and courageous, their eyes alight with the fire of conviction. Others were carefree and whimsical, their laughter echoing through the air like chimes in the wind.

There was the brave soldier, standing tall and resolute, bearing the scars of battles fought and victories won. His eyes held the weight of the world, yet they sparkled with a fierce determination that refused to be extinguished.

Next to him stood the carefree hippie, a flower tucked behind his ear and a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He regaled me with tales of peace and love, his laughter infectious and his spirit untamed.

But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, there were darker echoes from the past—versions of myself that I scarcely recognized. There was the greedy merchant, his pockets lined with ill-gotten gains and his heart consumed by a lust for wealth. His eyes gleamed with avarice as he recounted tales of deceit and betrayal, leaving a bitter taste in the air.

And then there was the murderer, his hands stained with blood and his soul shrouded in darkness. He spoke in hushed tones of sins committed and lives taken, his eyes devoid of remorse or regret.

As I listened to their stories, a sense of unease crept over me, mingling with the peace that had settled within my heart. These were not just echoes of the past—they were reflections of the choices I had made, the paths I had walked, and the person I had become.

But amidst the darkness, there were moments of light—stories of kindness and compassion, of courage in the face of adversity, and of love that transcended the boundaries of time and space. These were the threads that bound us together, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and shared humanity.

And so, as I stood amidst the myriad versions of myself, I realized that I was not defined by the sum of my past actions, nor confined by the limitations of my present circumstances. I was a product of my choices, shaped by the experiences that had shaped me, and empowered by the knowledge that the future was mine to shape.

I lingered there for what felt like an eternity, each moment stretching out before me like a thread unraveling from the fabric of time. And then, when I finally felt ready to face the path that lay ahead, I closed my eyes and took another leap of faith.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself on the other side of the wisteria archway, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. I turned to look back at it, a sense of calm settling over me as I realized that my path was now clear.

With renewed determination coursing through my veins, I resumed my run, each step propelling me forward into the unknown.