The Path Was Never Straight—And That’s Okay

There’s something we don’t talk about enough: life rarely goes the way we plan. As I’ve grown older, one of the hardest truths I’ve had to accept is that no matter how carefully you plan, some things will never be in your control. That’s a tough pill to swallow—especially when we’ve been raised to believe otherwise.

From a young age, we’re taught that success comes from structure: plan your steps, do the work, climb the staircase, and you’ll arrive at your dream. But what happens when life doesn’t follow the script? What if that staircase isn’t meant for you at all?

I used to believe in that structure. I used to think my life would follow the music—literally. I imagined living in a little brick townhome near Richmond or Colonial Williamsburg, playing in a local symphony, giving horn lessons, maybe working part-time at a cozy coffee shop. That was the life I dreamed of—simple, musical, peaceful. But life had other plans.

Today, I travel full-time. I’m a single mom, a storyteller, a listener, and someone who is rebuilding life one real moment at a time. I never thought this would be my journey. And I’m learning, daily, that that’s okay.

As a mentor and as a student, I’ve come to believe one simple truth: we are both—always. That doesn’t change with degrees, experience, or age. It doesn’t matter if your brain “fully develops” by 37; we are constantly learning. That’s the gift and the challenge of being human. But somehow, this idea has been lost—especially among leaders. Politicians, city council members, police departments, even many parents forget this. We forget that we’re still students too. We’re still growing. We don’t have it all figured out.

Sure, we have more access to information than ever before. But information isn’t the same as understanding. Wisdom doesn’t come from a screen—it comes from life. From mistakes. From sitting with people who think differently. From holding space for someone else's truth, not just your own.

I look at my son, and he is so bright. He loves to learn. He loves to ask questions. And I will never cut that light off. Because I know what it’s like to be cut off. I know what it’s like to be silenced. To have someone else pick a path for me and tell me to walk it—whether it fit or not.

We all have different lives. Different rhythms. Different shapes to our stories. And despite what those motivational posters may show, life is not a neat staircase. It’s valleys and mountaintops. Oceans and deserts. Forests, city streets, back roads, and cliffs. It’s walking and running and falling and crawling. It’s exhaustion and healing. It's being broken and made whole again, sometimes more than once.

My life didn’t go according to plan, but that doesn’t make it a failure. I used to play music. I don’t anymore. I sold my horn a few years ago. But I still sing. I still listen. And I watch my son find his own rhythm, and I promise him he will never be silenced the way others I have been around, or even I was in certain times of my life.

There’s a story in my family that always stays with me. My 2nd Aunt once called my Mom after visiting my Great-Grandmother in the nursing home. She was over 100 years old at the time—sharp, loving, kind. And she had started to sing.

It shocked my Aunt. “I’ve never heard her sing before,” she said.

When she asked why, my great-grandmother replied,

“When I was in kindergarten, my teacher told me there were two types of birds. One was colorful and could sing beautifully. The other was a black bird, plain and ugly, and it should never sing. She told me I was a black bird.”

So she didn’t sing. Not for a lifetime. Not for her children. Not for herself. Not until her mind began to drift back, and she started to release the pain that had been trapped inside her since she was little years old.

Words matter. Listening matters. Telling someone they don’t belong can silence their soul for a century.

The more I live, the more I realize: we don’t need more people telling us how to live. We need more people who are willing to listen. We need mentors, educators, leaders, and parents who don’t just talk—but sit with, walk with, and stand beside the next generation, the current generation, and the past generation.

Just because someone’s life doesn’t look like yours doesn’t make it wrong. Just because someone learns differently doesn’t mean they aren’t brilliant. And just because life didn’t go the way you thought it would doesn’t mean it isn’t worth living fully, with heart and hope.

So here’s my truth: I’m still learning. I’m still teaching. I’m still listening. And I’m still walking my path—whatever shape it may take.

That is a true blessing.