Crossroads

Some days I feel the pull
of the life I planned.
The long, steady climb
up the ladder of knowledge,
the careful assembly
of logic and research
into the bridge I thought
would carry me forward.

Other days, a softer voice
calls to me, asking me
to sit with someone's hurt,
to offer warmth instead of data,
presence instead of proof.
It beckons with open hands,
quiet and human.

I stand between them,
one foot on the map I drew
years before I knew myself,
one foot on the shifting ground
of who I'm learning I am.

Still not knowing
which one
I'm meant to be.