To get to the other side, silly.
Sometimes the answer is so obvious, so right there in plain sight, we fail to see it because we’re convinced it’s more complicated than that and in that complication it must have more relevance than simply going from point A to point B in the most direct manner.
Why do we humans make life harder for ourselves when all we have to be is practical?
I remember when my youngest son was 5 years old and he asked me and his dad what reproduction meant. I panicked and looked with stricken face to my husband, wondering how I was going to delicately get out of explaining the birds and the bees to my 5 year old child! Hubby shrugged and said, “It’s when you make more of something.”
“Oh, ok, that’s what I thought,” my little boy said, then ran off to reproduce God only knew what.
Boy, talk about relieved! But this speaks directly to my point: here I was creating unneeded anxiety because I didn’t listen to the question in its simplicity. Can you imagine if I had sat down and tried to explain what I thought I had to explain?
In theory, the simple question: Why did the chicken cross the road? has a simple answer: to get to the other side. But the reality of simply crossing the road often comes with hazards, seen and unseen. Like that train you see coming. You painstakingly calculate your crossing just right to avoid a collision or as we often do in life, miscalculate and splat! Or how about when the asphalt looks fine but we discover too late it’s too hot and burns our feet sending us back to the grass hopping on one foot than the other, forcing us to cool our heels, literally and figuratively, until we’re able to walk without pain again. Hopefully with shoes on the next time or at least the gray matter to realize when the road is too hot to cross.
Here’s the real and often ignored hazard: We are so focused on all of the other chickens that made it to the other side and what they’re up to that we rush across the road without looking and in our haste, we get run over by a Mack truck we didn’t see coming. That’ll teach us to worry about the other chickens and not ourselves!
But even with eyes wide open, there’s always the requisite pot hole, sink hole, road troll and reckless driver that can at any time derail us from our simple task: crossing from one side of the road to the other.
And then, once safely across the road, what is the chicken to do? Was the grass greener on the other side? Or was crossing the road part of our journey?
In this crazy business of writing, it seems that the road less traveled is a lonely one and because it is less traveled, we often have the misperception that it’s the wrong one. But I think in my infinite wisdom <cue sarcasm music> that we all need to stop thinking we should follow in our fellow chickens’ footsteps but create our own footprint, marking our own road traveled. So what if we never cross the road to the other side with the other chickens? Who’s to say the side we’re on isn’t better?
I’ve had a few epiphanies in the last couple of years, and the one that has come to me most recently during my self-imposed exile from the internet and the writing community to recharge is that truly, my path is no one else’s, and no one else’s is mine. I’m ready to walk the walk on my side of the road, at my own pace, in my own company.
I’d say I’d see you on the other side, and I might, but only if it’s the right side for me for the right reasons at the right time.
Happy Easter! Tell me what you’re doing this weekend? ^.^