There is a thing that happens when you arrive somewhere — a job, a relationship, a version of yourself you didn't expect — and you look back at the stretch you've just crossed. Suddenly the false starts and the sideways moves and the thing that felt like catastrophe at the time arrange themselves into something that looks suspiciously like a path.
I find this genuinely interesting, and genuinely tricky. Because the route might have been there all along, only visible from altitude. Or — and this is the sceptic's nagging question — we might be very skilled at drawing routes through noise after the fact. Hindsight doesn't just clarify; it also edits.
Both possibilities can be true in different proportions for different stories. Which is partly why I'd like to hear yours.
What only made sense once you were standing at point C? And, if you're willing to sit with it: do you think you found the route, or built it?