When You Come to a Fork in the Road, Take It

Seventh Grade

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked 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

While we were studying the art of poetry in English class, our teacher asked us each to pick a poem to memorize and recite. I was immediately drawn to this one. Its visual metaphor resonated with me. I also liked its message of nonconformity. I’d always felt, even at that young age, that I was a bit different. My path was not the same as others. I wasn’t eccentric, or an outcast, but I knew I marched to the beat of a different drummer.

Graduate School

I was sitting in the dark recital hall, one week before classes were to begin. One of my fellow clarinet performance majors, Tim, was playing a piece that crackled with musical pyrotechnics. Listening to him in that moment changed the course of my life. Until that day, I’d been full of confidence and knew I was destined for success as a performer. I’d spent years dedicated to my music, and here I was in a top grad school, ready to take things to the next level.  The program was highly selective, so I wouldn’t have been there if I wasn’t good. Really good.

But… Tim was better than me. He was amazing. I sat there in the dark room, surrounded by colleagues that I instantly knew were also better than me, even though I hadn’t heard them yet.  My mind raced from, “I’m so excited to be here!” to “What the hell am I doing here?” All in the span of about five minutes.

That feeling of inadequacy and smallness never quite left me the entire year of my degree program. I ended up spending more time in the library, or going to Cubs games (many times alone, which I loved), than I did in the practice room. While others were in the “beehive” practice building, I was overly absorbed in my bibliography project. When I did practice, it was out of fear of not being good enough, rather than out of a belief that I already was.

By December of that year, I’d decided that life as a performer wasn’t for me. I finished my degree and moved on to another graduate program, this time taking up arts administration. This was a much better (safer?) path for me. My career unfolded more or less as I expected it to. I slowly recovered from my earlier self-sabotaging experience. And when I started coach training some 14 years later, I became aware of how, in that recital hall, I chose to be intimidated, rather than inspired. That I chose to let my gremlins run amuck. And that I was my own worst enemy.

Entrepreneurship

A few weeks ago, I was a speaker at a conference in Chicago. It was an exciting opportunity that I’d been looking forward to. Most of my speaking up to that point had been part of a stand-alone event (for instance, a networking event or corporate training). This was one of the first times I was presenting directly after someone else.

The speaker before me, Dan, was outstanding. His message resonated with me and the audience. He told meaningful stories, was comfortable in front of the group, and had that winning combination of quick humor and deep intelligence. His message also overlapped with mine. In many respects, we were saying the same thing, except I thought he was saying it better.

So when it was my turn, I acknowledged Dan’s presentation and shared that they will be hearing some similar content, with a different spin. It was tempting to grin and say a lift-him-up/lower-expectations comment to the group, like “he’s a hard act to follow!” But I refrained. Instead I did the best I could, despite the nagging feeling in me that my best wasn’t good enough. In the end, the audience seemed pleased, but I wasn’t.

It took me almost a week to process what happened. In true introvert style, I thought a lot about it before I could share my experience fully with someone else. I had to get the “right” words around it.

As the dust settled in my mind, a sense of déjà vu came over me. I’d been here before. I was transported back to that pivotal moment in graduate school, sitting in the recital hall, listening to an uber-talented performer and psyching myself out.

Except this time, I recognized what was happening. The two situations were definitely parallel and stimulated the same emotional, “I’m not good enough” reaction. The difference between then and now? I recognized what was going on much faster (5 days instead of 15 years!). And I had the tools to deal with it:

1. I gave myself space and grace to process internally before sharing with others. This allowed me to sift through the surface noise so I could more clearly articulate my feelings.
2. Once I was ready to talk, I chose my confidants wisely. My husband lent a patient, understanding ear, as did a few trusted friends and my business coach.
3. I separated out fact from fiction. As I wrote in a previous post, another person’s success doesn’t translate into my failure. Dan’s expertise didn’t negate mine. It simply was a call to step up my game.
4. By challenging the stories I made up about my abilities, I was able to gain perspective. I remembered that even the most powerful speakers were, at some point, in the same place I was: confronting insecurity and doubt when faced with the next stretch goal.
5. I realized my message was more important than me and my ego. I had a job to do! A responsibility, really.
6. I focused on the greatest tool we can possibly have: choice. I could choose to go home and curl up in a fetal position under my favorite blanket, or I could choose to be inspired to kick things up a notch (or two or three). In fact, I actually chose both. I allowed myself space to be disappointed, then I worked my way through the doubt (see 1-5 above) and chose to move forward with new energy and conviction in the message.

The Road Not Taken

For an introvert to choose an entrepreneurial path feels in many ways like “the road not taken.” It’s not the most comfortable path. It’s vulnerable. It’s by turns energizing and exhausting. Many people embark on the journey, and few succeed to their expectations. And the forks in the road pop up almost every day. They challenge the introvert’s desire to be prepared, to think first and act later. And sometimes we encounter others who have also chosen the road not taken, and they (mostly unconsciously) challenge our belief in ourselves and our capacity to do the work.

But here’s the thing: you can do it. You have infinite capacity. Some days, you are going to be painfully aware that you are on a path covered with “leaves no step had trodden black.” You might even want to turn back (yes, it happens to everyone, I’m pretty sure) and take the familiar fork. That’s certainly an option. The point is to make sure that whichever fork you choose, you choose it from a place of curiosity, commitment, truth, trust and love. And that will make all the difference.

Please comment: When have you felt super confident, then had that confidence directly challenged? What did you do? How do you handle moments of self-doubt or insecurity?

{“When you come a fork in the road, take it.” -Yogi Berra}