One day, a little girl woke up on a path.

The path was smooth and cold against her bare feet. She walked forward with people by her side. Two adults held her hands. The girl felt happy as she walked. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was going there with others. She skipped along, joined by other kids with their own adults by their sides. The sky was a cloudless blue. The sun shone through bright green trees. Her skin felt warm and flushed, bathed in the sunlight. She jumped over the cracks in the path with the other children, laughing happily. Some people branched off the smooth concrete path and onto muddy paths. One of the adults by her side left without a word. His feet coated in thick dark mud as he walked away. The little girl called out to him, but he didn’t look back.

The girl felt sad and cold, but she didn’t understand why. Salty water leaked from her eyes. The last adult let go of her hand yet continued to walk by her side. She wanted to hold their hand still. Each time the girl reached for it the adult would pull it away quickly as though she had hurt them. The little girl’s feet began to hurt. The path was no longer smooth; it was now a rough, prickly concrete. The kids by her side still skipped and laughed—they had shoes on their feet. The shoes looked thick and cushiony. The little girl wanted shoes to protect her feet too. She looked at the adult by her side; they had shoes too. The girl walked slowly, trying to protect her feet from the pain. The adult walked quicker, and the little girl fell behind. She yelled out to them. Begged them to stop. They walked faster and faster, past all the other kids and adults, until she was out of sight. The path stabbed her feet like hundreds of needles. The adults nearby looked at her and moved away. They only offered their hand to the kids by their sides. The kids teased her because she was alone, without shoes.

The girl took a deep breath and continued to walk, telling herself to be brave. She moved slower than the people around her. At one point she even fell, cutting her hands and knees on the sharp path. But she got back up and continued to walk. The path will get smooth again soon, she told herself. Yet the longer she walked the worse the path got. It was no longer concrete; now it was dirt. The dirt was a deep red, filled with sharp rocks and bumpy roots. The incline increased, bit by bit until she had to use her arms to pull herself up. Teenage kids looked at her as they walked past on their own smooth concrete paths. They pointed and laughed. Teased her because she was alone. Because her path was different to theirs. Harder than theirs. Adults stood behind them, but they didn’t look at her. The girl, now a teenager herself, used the last of her strength to pull herself onto a large root. I’ll rest here, she thought. Just for a bit.

After a while, a man appeared beside her. Are you alone? She nodded. The man had shoes on. She looked at her own feet, covered in dirt and cuts. Thick with callouses from carrying her this far. He looked at her path. My path was the same. She didn’t believe him. No one with the same path as hers could have shoes. They couldn’t be clean and happy like those with smooth paths. It’s true. Prove it, she replied. I found a new path, a better path. One you can walk with no shoes. The girl was doubtful; if such a path existed, how had she not found it before? It’s a dangerous path. Smooth walkers don’t venture there. The girl thought about it. Her path wasn’t going anywhere. She could always come back. Show me this path, she said.

The path was dangerous, as the man had said. He showed her the way and left quickly. Where are you going, she asked. Back to my path. She wondered why he didn’t walk this one with her. I can do this, she thought. She began the tightrope walk on this new, dangerous path, leaving her old one behind. The path was a smooth, smooth concrete on one half. She magically had shoes when her feet touched it. She felt like she belonged on the smooth path. Other people joined her, smiles on their faces as they embraced her. But sometimes, when her foot slipped, she fell onto the other half of the path. That half was dark and thick. Her feet became muddy and murky with the smallest touch. It reminded her of the path her adult had walked on, long ago. She walked the tightrope between smooth and muddy. Neither one was truly her path, but if she walked in the middle, she felt safe. Alive. Happy. The woman walked that path for a long, long time. She perfected the art of walking the line. She could enjoy life with other people. People who’d always had smooth paths. Sometimes she fell and each time was harder than the last to get back.

One day, though, she couldn’t walk that path anymore. A new man stood in front of her with his arms folded. He blocked the path with a large barrier. What do you want, the woman asked him. You don’t need this path anymore. The woman didn’t want to leave this path. Her path. She turned him down and told him to move. I won’t move. The woman tried to walk around him, but she would completely fall onto the dark path if she did. She didn’t want that. I’ll show you a new path. The woman wasn’t sure if she wanted a new path. I can show you a path that’s all smooth. His path sounded nice. But she wasn’t sure she would suit a path so smooth. She followed him cautiously.

This is your new path. He pointed it out to her. It was a thin concrete line, smoother than any she’d previously seen. But this new path was narrower than hers and it had dark muddy paths on either side. What if I fall off, she asked. Then you climb back up. The woman thought her old path looked better. Easier. This one is better. She wanted to know why. Look carefully. The woman strained her eyes to see in the distance. The concrete path was thin where she stood but in the far distance, the path was wide. The muddy path grew thin and weak in the distance. She’d have all the smooth path to herself. If she could get there. It’s okay, the man whispered in her ear. You won’t fall. How do you know, she asked. Because I’ll hold your hand.