The Path We Know, The Path We Choose

Every day is a new journey. Not in the sweeping, cinematic sense—but in the quiet, often overlooked moments where we decide how to show up. We light the candle. We brew the tea. We whisper our intentions. And still, the old ways linger.

We can be devoted to our new practices—rituals that nourish, habits that heal—but if we don’t tend to the soil of our mindset, those practices can become performative. We find ourselves walking the same well-worn path, even while holding a map to somewhere new.

It doesn’t take a crisis to trigger this. Sometimes, it’s the smallest thing.

Let me share a moment I almost blew out of proportion—simply because I was stuck in an old groove. It wasn’t dramatic. No big confrontation. Just a subtle shift in plans that brushed up against my need for control. I felt the familiar rise of frustration, the tightening in my chest, the story I began to tell myself: “This always happens. I’m not supported. I have to do it all.”

While in the car with my husband, he mentioned aloud that my vehicle requires an oil change. Internally, I questioned why he was informing me instead of arranging the appointment himself. I then said out loud oh okay thanks.

I began to think of what we learned in marriage counseling, which emphasized the importance of patience and communication in a relationship. The counselor had suggested that by allowing my partner some space and time to reflect, he might discover ways to serve me better and understand my needs more profoundly. This concept resonated with me, as I realized that sometimes, giving someone the opportunity to think things through can lead to meaningful change. So, I decided to put this idea into practice. I would intentionally wait and walk a bit slower in our interactions, allowing him the chance to ponder the question of how he could support me more effectively. Perhaps, in doing so, he would take the initiative to call and make the appointment for me, showing that he was willing to invest in our relationship.

However, as two weeks passed without any appointment being made, I began to feel a sense of frustration creeping in. It was becoming increasingly clear that I might be left to handle this situation on my own, which was disheartening. I found myself thinking, "Here is another thing I am going to have to do myself, ugh." The weight of this realization felt heavy on my shoulders. I had hoped that by giving him this opportunity, he would step up and take responsibility for our relationship's growth. Instead, I felt like I was waiting in vain, and the burden of our issues was resting solely on me. This situation made me question not only his commitment to our marriage but also my own patience and the effectiveness of the strategies we had learned in counseling.

As the days went by, I reflected on the lessons we had learned and the importance of mutual effort in a partnership. I realized that while I was waiting for him to take action, I also needed to evaluate my own expectations and the dynamics of our relationship. Perhaps this was a crucial moment for both of us, one that required open dialogue and a willingness to confront our challenges together. I began to consider how I could approach the topic with him in a way that would encourage him to engage without feeling pressured. My hope was that through honest communication, we could navigate this impasse and find a way to move forward together.

But then I paused. I breathed. I asked myself, “Is this true—or is this just familiar?”

That question cracked something open.

I realized I was reacting from a place that no longer matched who I’m becoming. My new practices—my rituals, my breathwork, my healing gardens—aren’t just tools. They’re invitations to choose differently. To respond with grace instead of defense. To soften instead of brace.

That day, I decided to take a different route. I released the narrative I had been holding onto. I adapted and found peace. I entered our bedroom and admitted, "I have something to confess. I've been holding onto a negative story about you without seeking your help. In retrospect, you might say it was a setup—I thought it was for you, but I realize it was actually for me to understand that I need to trust you're here for me, and I must ask for help."

In that subtle shift, I experienced the power of transformation—not as a dramatic occurrence, but as a silent revolution. He looked at me and admitted, "You are right, I dropped the ball. I should be handling all those things for you. I'm sorry, and while we're out today, I'll make that appointment. I'll even drive your car, wait for it to be finished, and bring it home." So I then leaned into the Practice of the Path.

This moment reminded me that transformation doesn’t happen in the grand gestures—it lives in the micro-movements. In the breath before the reaction. In the choice to speak truth instead of rehearse old scripts. In the courage to say, “It’s me. I stepped out of alignment.”

Our rituals—lighting the candle, brewing the tea, walking the garden paths—are not just beautiful acts. They are rehearsals for real life. They prepare us to meet the unexpected with grace, to catch ourselves when we slip, and to return to center without shame.

When we step out of line, the invitation is not to spiral into guilt or retreat into old ways. It’s to name it. To own it. To ask for help. And to trust that the people who love us are capable of meeting us there.

Every day is a new journey. And every moment is a chance to choose the path we’re carving—not the one we’ve memorized.

So let your rituals be more than routines. Let them be your compass. And when the winds shift, may you be quick to say, “I’m here. I’m learning. I’m choosing again.”