The Journey

My father always told me that sometimes you have to be bold enough to take the leap if you ever want to succeed. Maybe that is why I took mine and risked everything along with it.

The wind rifled through the trees, dancing with its leaves, and swaying its branches. I stood there, ankle deep in a chilled water, as the breeze played with my hair, braiding it back into what resembled a crown. 

"Follow the stream," Father said "And when you're done, you will understand why I told you so." Father never told anyone else to follow it. Just me, his only child. So, at the toughest part of my early adult years, at my crossroads, I decided to take the non beaten path of following the stream. 

Maybe its the birds' song or the fresh air, but time seems to just stop-as if a thick layer of peace coats every part of this forest. No more early morning rises, no more deadlines, no more late night study sessions or last minute crams or racing from job to job. No more stress. Only the idyllic blanket of nature. A stone-like weight pressed into my side with every step I took in the water. The water logged soil squished itself between my toes as I walked down the stream. It was a funky feeling, one that I never thought that I'd enjoy. But I did. I felt like a child again, one that did not have to be an adult and could be as carefree as they wanted. I don’t remember myself as a child, metaphorically of course. I never was care free. Day in and day out I would study and study and learn and learn, convinced that the times table I memorized in first grade would be the difference of me getting into college or not.

Why did Father want me to walk this path? Well, I mean, I have not walked far enough for my feet to hurt yet, but shouldn't I know? I did give up my planned future for this, yet I do not even know why I'm here. I had my college interview at Harvard today and I have an interview with my boss about a promotion tomorrow. I'll have to miss both of those to carry out my father's wishes. So, on his fifth anniversary, I will gladly give up both.

I walk for a long while more, to the point where the waters seem to bite and nip at my ankles, but my feet still do not hurt nor my legs. I'm not fatigued in the slightest, or at least my body decides to ignore the pain for me. The weight began to provide a reason for continuing. It reminded me of why I was here and where I need to go. And then the breeze begins to pick up pink fallen flower petals that were lain beside the river and starts to throw them up in the air-nature's confetti. Is this a celebration? My walking of the stream? Or maybe its a celebration every day, a party for another day of life, of living. But this is what I'd call peace. 

This is not a luxury I would be able to get back home. There's never peace when you're a struggling student living paycheck to paycheck, going to be drowning in debt. But is that what I really want? To be a lawyer? To go and struggle through a college, a life that I do not want and gain a debt that I'll never be able to pay off?

Suddenly the stream widens out and spilled out into a tiny circular pond, with no more stream left to follow. Was this it? Was this what Father wanted me to see? I scoff at the idea of it. There's no possible way that this is what he told me to do all his life to just have the end be this-a simple pond. 

But, I decide to comply with the idea and sit by the edge of the pond. What was the purpose? What was the point Father? Was this walk a joke of yours? A prank that caused me to miss one of the most important two interviews of my life? The ones that would very well support me financially and the other that would quite significantly help me academically for the rest of my life?

This is what I worked for my whole life. Day after day I spent studying and breaking my back by leaning over my desk night after night. Friends? No such thing when you studied to go to Harvard. Free Fridays downtown? Never had the time with the amount of tests I had the following Monday. Sleepovers or pool parties? Who would invite me and where would I find the time? There was never any break for someone like me, but I did it.

I laugh aloud, disturbing the forest's serenity. What am I even doing here? Giving up everything? Maybe I thought something would happen, something life changing. With Father, you never know.

But I take a deep breath and close my eyes. As I stood up to head back, I came to the realization that I do not want to go back. I do not want to go back to racing from job to job. I do not want to spend anymore nights studying. I do not want to go to Harvard. 

I do not want to go to Harvard.

That's it. That's why Father wanted me to come out here: it's the journey you take not the destination. Father was always clever like that-tricking us into situations that would benefit us. 

So, ever so slowly, I take out a beautiful porcelain jar out of my pocket. I look at it for a while, as I had for the past five years of my life. I kept it with me and spoke to it my daily problems. It was always there, but this is where it needs to be. So I take off the fragile lid and pour its contents into the pond. The ashes floated on the surface before mixing itself into the crystal clear water as if it was never there. 

"I love you, Dad. Thank you and you were right. This changed my life."

Slowly, I walked back through the water, through this journey, all the way home, knowing that I don't regret missing those interviews. And I don't plan on rescheduling.