When I first became aware of the 12 roads of life, of my life at least, I was already on the 11th. That was nearly 5 years ago and at 38 years old, I could look back at all the paths I’ve travelled and see all places I’ve lived, the jobs I’ve had, the people I’ve loved. I could see how my experience of life has taken me on a wayward journey, down roads that have led nowhere and in some instances, to places best left forgotten. But I could also see how stepping down unfamiliar roads has given me great happiness in the most simple and unexpected places. It’s been a rich tapestry of love and loss but each time I come back to the point that is my centre, I look for a sign, something to show me which path is the next road. Sometimes it’s there in bright lights. Other times it’s so dim I’m unsure of the first steps. But the sign for the 12th road has been slow to appear. I’ve wandered down some empty paths in the hope of finding it, sometimes feeling like I’m being pushed from behind and other times cautiously waiting to see if the light is brighter ahead. Never quite sure but always wondering, is this it, is this the 12th road?


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