Back in ancient times, people could walk in any direction they chose. Now, we’re forced to travel the same roads every day where there are only two directions that you can go. One can’t exactly walk through random stranger’s backyards. I’ve expressed to my friends how this sometimes makes me feel sick but I haven’t found anyone yet who feels the same.

I’m always stuck on paths. I can choose to go faster or slower, forward or backwards, but I can’t choose to turn right or left. In school we sit in rows and study the one-size-fits-all curriculum. In track I’m confined to my lane. In band we march in a block. In church I’m stuck in the pews.

There is a path near my house that goes through the woods. One day, I decided to take a sharp right. Pushing through the dense shrubbery, I emerged with only a couple scrapes to a new world. I explored the cathedral of trees holding up the green stained glass canopy above. I visited again and again because going there made me feel like the light elves I read about in Norwegian folklore. There are nymphs in the woods that build forts with the junk that people leave there. A broken chair facing a broken TV under a tipi. A trash bag tied to a stick and propped up in a traffic cone as a triumphant flag. I tried to leave them a note in a bottle, but when I came back the note was missing but there was no reply.

One day I took my bike out to the town park and walked the path along the once-thriving Middlesex canal; a staple third-grade field trip. I came to the part where the trail stops, because once upon a time the canal traveled an aqueduct over the river. I remember hearing the third-grade teachers’ voices, “Stay away from the edge.” Back then all I wanted to do was cross.

No teachers held me back this time. I took off my shoes and my socks and waded into the water. One foot at a time. I stared intensely through the murk, avoiding slimy rocks and algae as much as possible. The other side was a whole world I hadn’t explored yet. A whole world that few people had ever gone before because few people are willing to get their feet wet to cross. But my shoes and my bike were still on the other side, tying me down. I crossed back and tossed my shoes and socks over. Then I lifted my bike over my head and carried it across the current. I sat down on a rock to let my feet dry before I put my socks back on.

For most people, the path is cut off by a stream. Most people walk their dog down there, look at the beautiful scenery, and turn around. But I’m tired of being confined to the paths. So I hopped on my bike and carried on in a new direction.