Past Lives

There is this suffocating feeling that often comes when at a crossroads—it's the feeling of making a choice so impactful that it seals of a chance to go back and make a different one. It's the knowledge that we have to live with our choices, even when we don't deserve to; we can't look to the future to gauge how something is going to work out, so we're left with two choices—find the reversible path, the one you can always turn around half-way through if you realize it's the wrong one, a half-choice, never complete, always the chance to turn back, or you can charge headfirst into the path that will change the course of your life forever, and either regret it or view it as the superior choice. Aye, but there's the rub. No matter how good a choice may seem, no matter how far down the road you travel, you will never know if it was the best possible choice you could have made. * And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. * — Robert Frost With Past Lives Celine Song induces an anxiety attack—how many shitty choices have I made in life? How many more are there to come?