Most of us set out along the well-trodden boulevards of life, clutching our maps of certainty and scanning the roadside for those reassuring signposts: Happiness, Success, or whatever ambitions we have been taught to chase, searching for the billboard that promises arrival.
But the signage thins out. Almost without noticing, we stray from the easy road and face a crossroads where the landscape grows wild, demanding not just our effort but our faith.
Puzzlement arrives, uninvited. Our reflex is to recoil, to retrace our steps toward familiar ground, as if confusion were a pothole to be avoided rather than a signpost in its own right.
We crave explanations, guarantees, the soothing balm of rational certainty; anything but that electric shiver of not-knowing, that invitation for our identities to be jostled and rearranged.
We read it as failure. I once mistook it for a wall until I realised it was a door, quietly waiting.
The Greeks had a word for this wild detour where the road ends unexpect…
