You know, I really couldn't say when I first saw the lines.
I mean, sure, I know it was sometime around my tween years when I saw them for *sure*. I was 13 when I saw the brightly colored lines cutting straight across the gravel parking lot, leading me back to my parents after I had gotten lost on that road trip. But before that? I really couldn't say. Maybe I had seen them before, mistaking them for pavement lines and supermarket markings.
Regardless. After I noticed them, I couldn't help it. I saw them *everywhere*. Two lines, red and green, etched into the ground like they were marked in paint. No one else could see them. I'd commented on them once, to my mother, and she looked at me like I was crazy. I was old enough at that point to know to keep my mouth shut.
But I watched, as they wove their way in and out of my life.
And, as one does, I inevitably found myself overwhelmed with the *need* to investigate them, to see where they led. The curiosity was more than I could take. The memory of that first time was too fresh in my mind, of the green line leading me straight back to safety.
And so, when I was 14, I grabbed a botle of water and a snack, and I followed them. The green line, of course. Green is good and red is bad, right? It just seemed smarter that way. It had taken me on a winding, twisting path, deeper and deeper into the city, until at last I found myself at a robotics tournament being held that afternoon.
It was *thrilling*.
I had no idea that something like that was even a thing, but my interest was piqued. I decided - I wanted to do something like *that* with my life. And I looked at that little green line with newfound respect.
So I followed it again.
Over and over, I followed it. And time after time, my life was rewarded for it. It took me to the front door of a prep school where I met Mr. Graves, whose tutoring I hold directly responsible for getting me into college a few years down the road. It led me out of danger, as a kitchen fire burned out of control in my school. And, it crossed my path with that of the woman of my dreams. Literally. We smacked into each other in a crosswalk.
So, here I was. I was 30, and the world was at my fingertips. I sat in my leather gaming chair, in front of the desk holding all of my equipment. I looked out the window of my top-floor penthouse, gazing down at the city below. The walls were covered with the awards I had won, in automation and robotics and system design. My lovely, smart, beautiful wife was in the other room, reading a book as she brewed coffee.
It was perfect. Really perfect. All thanks to that little green line.
But I couldn't help it. I was *bored*.
My whole adult life, I'd relied on that invisible line to guide my steps. It hadn't bothered me when I was younger. I was just a kid, and this line opened doors for me I didn't even know *existed*. I'd followed it without hesitation, trusting it to take my life where it needed to go.
Now that I was older, now that I had time to stop and think about it, I wondered if this had all really been for the best. Had I just taken the easy path? Had I gone with the flow, and given up on taking my life into my own hands? It kept me up at night, I'll be honest.
And through it all, it burned, in the corner of my vision. That red line. It seared into my sight like it was on *fire*. It demanded attention, begging for me to give it the shot I'd only ever given its green brother.
That old curiosity was back.
And so I grabbed an old messenger bag out of the closet, a remnant from my college days. I threw in bottles of water, and a pocket knife. A charge cable for my phone, and a granola bar. I laughed to myself, as I saw it. It looked so much like the bag I had packed, all those years ago, when I first walked the green line. But that felt right, you know?
