Sidewalks

Every path is optional.

Last Friday, while I was on my morning run, something I see all the time suddenly jumped out at me: every sidewalk that I ran on was a suggestion, not a rule. Some are smooth, some are covered in wet leaves, and some are cracked. From a directional standpoint, some take you exactly where you want to go, while others dead-end into a greenbelt. And, every once in a while, the sidewalk you think you're supposed to take turns into a frustrating detour that ends up slowing you down.

Here's what really popped into my head: at any moment, I can step off that sidewalk and choose a different route. It's not like some cosmic crossing guard is making me stay put - and that's the part most of us forget.

We treat our habits, routines, careers, and even relationships like rigid pathways formed in concrete:

• "This is the path I'm on, so I need to see it through."

• "This is just how things are."

• "This is the direction I have to take."

No, it isn't.

Sidewalks, and the lives we build on top of them, have always been about choice. You can run on them, beside them, or leave them altogether for the bike lane on the street. You can follow that same route every day, or you can decide that familiar just isn't working for you any longer. You can take a smooth sidewalk for ease or the cracked, uneven one for growth. Sometimes, the smartest decision is to cut across the grass and create a brand new path no one planned for you.

Every meaningful shift in my life, whether it's writing, speaking, launching brandivate, or reinventing myself again and again, happened the moment I realized I could simply stop taking the same sidewalk I had been following and try a different path.

I'll leave you with this: are you on this sidewalk because it's where you want to be or because you never stopped long enough to ask?

Remember: if you want to change your direction, all it takes is a single step to the side.