An early association between

"happy" and conventional

led me to choose--

superficial, smooth roads--

paved with stability;

and a naive, preconceived

notion of how things should be.

In blind innocence, I took this path

wearing shoes without traction.

I never truly understood the cliche--

of two roads diverging

until I slipped and fell down the perfect road

on that sunny, cloudless day.

Hitting my head, I was unable to remember why

I was walking in the first place.

It was as if this path was my only option,

until I forgot where I was going.

When I looked up,

I saw something remarkable--

an aesthetically pleasing epiphany,

standing magnificently in the horizon.

From far way, the slope looked smooth like the

path I had slipped on previously.

But when I walked closer,

I saw its rough edges- the rigidness.

Something about it intrigued me

the imperfections, making me feel human--

less alone and as I stepped closer-

somehow the edges

looked as if they were sculpted

to the shape of my grip.

So without a second thought,

I began to work my way uphill,

and I am still

--to this day--

climbing.

And even on the days that leave me

fatigued and tired,

I keep myself going up--

and there have been

times I have tripped--

finding myself

miles beneath

where I intended to be.

Though my intentions

are always good,

timing has been something

I've always had to work at

and I know people might

wonder why I can't

just be "traditional",

but my path was never paved for me

and now I realize

normal was never synonymous to happy.