"I'd rather wait for a wider path..."

Just a year ago this fall, my wife and I were walking through a remote section of state park along Lake Michigan. It's an ungroomed backpacking area away from bike paths and asphalt. There was a lot of thick overgrowth and many false forks. Any trail markers or signs were few and far between. Still, we'd hiked even more remote areas (there was that time in Alaska...) and we'd easily be back long before nightfall. Plus, what better orientation than knowing a Great Lake was somewhere off to our right, for crying out loud!

Oops.

About the time we expected to meet up with a return loop to the trail head and our car, the winding trail veered sharply from the lake shore and we soon lost sight (and sound) of the water.

The path shrunk until neither of us believed that the thin ribbon of dirt beneath our feet was the real "trail." And looking backward in the fading light, we realized we could wander endlessly in circles trying to retrace our steps to the lake shore (no compass!).

With the temperature dropping rapidly, our light hiking clothing would make for a very miserable night in the forest. Brrrr!

So we both rejoiced when a few more twists and turns of that tiny path spilled us back onto the main trail and an arrow to the parking lot. Yes!

Even in the dark, we could safely navigate back from there. What a relief.

Clear direction.

There was only one path home that made sense to us.

Neither one of us said, "this is insulting, there should be more options."

It didn't occur to us to say, "I don't like having to take this path with the arrow, let's wander back into the overgrowth where we're in full control."

Instead, we were happy - and grateful - to have a way out of the dark and to the reassuring comfort at the end of the trail.

It's really not so bad accepting a single, narrow path to the assured solution.

Or is it?

What do you believe?