It’s 2 am. The fridge hums its broken song, always a little too loud. Used to be it’d just be me and the hum, but now there’s the kid next door, barely out of high school, tapping away on his keyboard at all hours. Typing out his future, I guess. I remember that feeling. The world just… stretching out. Like a big empty field and you’re standing in the middle, staring at all the paths branching off into the tall grass. A thousand ways to go. And here I am, still in the field. Maybe I never even stepped onto a path. Just kept turning circles. Saw one of those young ones today, at the coffee shop. Hair dyed some kind of lavender, holding a book with a fancy title. Said she just graduated, studio apartment, felt like she was drowning in options. Told her, "Honey, that sounds like a good problem to have." And she just gave me this look. Like I didn’t get it. And maybe I don't. Used to be it was just… get a job. Any job. Keep the lights on. That was the path. That was the whole map. No time for all this soul-searching business. But seeing her, I felt that familiar sour taste. The one that means you KNOW you messed up somewhere. Big time. My dad worked in the mill his whole life. Came home smelling of metal and sweat. His hands were always grimy, even after he washed them. He’d just shake his head if I ever talked about "finding myself." Said, "Find a paycheck, that’s what you find." And he wasn’t wrong. Always had a roof. Always had food. Always paid the bills. That’s something, right? It just… stopped feeling like enough. Like I built a sturdy little house, but forgot to put in any windows. Or maybe I did, and then boarded them all up. Just to be safe. I still pour coffee, just like the kid in the forum. Only it’s not a "stepping stone" for me anymore. It’s just… the step. The whole flight of stairs. And some mornings, my back aches, and the steam from the espresso machine feels like a warm blanket you can’t quite shake off. And I think about all those paths in the tall grass. All the ones I didn’t take. All the ones I was too scared to even look at. And it’s not regret, exactly. More like… a dull ache. Like missing something you never even had. Like knowing the sun set, but you never got to see it. Just kept watching the clouds. Anyway. Another day. Another cup. Sometimes I try to picture myself, standing there at the start of that field. What would I tell myself? What wisdom would I impart? Probably just "Don’t be an idiot." Or "Buy a lottery ticket." Or "Invest in Apple." Ha. But no, really. I’d probably just tell myself to pick a path. Any path. Even if it’s the wrong one. At least then you’re moving. At least then you’re not just… standing there. Watching everyone else disappear into the distance. Like me. Still here. Still hearing that fridge hum. Still watching the light from the kid’s screen under his door. Tapping away. Building something. Anything.