Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood

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University guys always have certain anxieties; beyond academics, it mostly boils down to matters of the heart.

Recently, a student came to our dorm seeking advice about his relationship. His main concern was that he had been talking with his crush for a long time, and their conversations were going well. However, he was stuck—unable to decide whether to take things further or maintain the status quo—so he came to consult others. After going around in circles, he ended up asking me.

But what could I offer? Lacking context and being in a different position, as an outsider, any specific advice would seem almost frivolous. But I think a deeper reason might be that—the act of "choice" itself simply cannot bear the weight of a young person’s restless, uncertain times. It’s too thin, so thin that it exists only in the moment the decision is made. All the ensuing joys and sorrows, growth, and meaning have little to do with that fleeting instant.

In this case, the "choice" lies between maintaining the status quo and moving forward: If he chooses to maintain the status quo—they’d still be friends, but there’s always that feeling that something’s missing, a sense of unwillingness! If he chooses to move forward—what if it fails? Would they even remain friends? Wouldn’t that be such a regret? 😢

In reality, what we’re weighing here are not two isolated futures, but projections of different facets of ourselves. That "unwillingness" stems from an inherent part of our nature—the pursuit, even obsession, for what we desire. That "fear of regret" corresponds to another part of our personality—the longing and need for emotional stability. Character determines destiny. These two emotions together form the premise of decision-making, and our pursuit of them gives rise to the two paths that appear before our eyes.

Therefore, no matter which side we ultimately lean toward, we are not choosing an unfamiliar outcome. Rather, we are continuing along a path paved by our own traits and past experiences. These seemingly starkly different choices, when viewed over a longer time, shed their initial intensity and reveal the underlying tone of life at that moment.

From this perspective, choice is actually homogeneous—your countless actions up to this point have already determined which button your hands are destined to press at this moment. The act of "choosing" is merely about deciding which few options, filtered through your personal traits from an infinite array of possibilities, are presented to you now.

A poet comes to two roads in a yellow wood—he stands there for a long time, unable to decide. If he remains standing there, frozen between the two paths, his life continues to slip away in that very moment. If such a delay were about choosing lottery numbers, it might be "understandable"—after all, you might actually "strike it rich" through such a "choice." But these two roads are just that—roads. They are meant to be walked, meant for moving forward. The "choice" of which direction to take should serve the purpose of "moving forward" itself, not become an obsession with "choosing" that makes us forget our original intent. If a traveler stands too long, agonizing over which path to take, they might still be stuck in that yellow wood by nightfall—forgetting their destination as a traveler, forgetting why they were "passing through" this yellow forest in the first place. What a pity that would be!

If we approach these choices with this mindset, then whether we choose to maintain the status quo or move forward, the so-called "choice" is merely about selecting a way to "move forward." What matters most is not the experience during the process of choosing, but that throughout this process, you—the one making the choice—are enriching your life by continually moving forward:

If you’re rejected, you can choose to wallow in regret or rise again through reflection—this, you decide. If you enter a relationship, you can choose to grow complacent as the passion fades or nurture it in everyday life—this, you decide. Even if you do nothing, you can choose to linger in regret or gather strength in silence—this, too, you decide. The past sets the stage, the script, and the role for you, but how you perform—the lines, the actions, and all the meaning you imbue it with—is firmly held in your hands at this very moment.

In fact, this, too, is a "choice." But this kind of choice is not an empty worry about the future based on the past. It is, rather, a shift from following old patterns when the gears of time turn to this point. Worrying about the future based on the past is like allowing the same sunlight, day after day, to scorch your eyes unchanged for millennia—in a blank void, the path ahead turns into wasted time. But moving forward is like using a prism to refract sunlight into a rainbow—amidst the vibrant colors, the monotonous light gains richer hues. In an otherwise blank expanse, even the blazing sky can reveal a rainbow.

In a yellow wood, there are two roads. Will you choose to "choose," or choose "not to choose"? Well, actually, whether you choose to "choose" or choose "not to choose," it still ends up being a choice of some kind. If choice is inevitable, choose to "move forward"! After all, in a yellow wood, there are two roads, and each one is a path forward.