In Joy:

In deciding which type of life to live, I stood beneath the sprawling fig tree of my imagination. Each branch a symbol of lives that I could lead: a branch with the promise of love, another with career triumphs, another with wild adventures, and yet another with quiet contentment. I reached for each, and I hesitated because I knew one taken meant letting the others fall to the ground, gone and lost forever.

So instead of climbing the tree, I stepped back and declared "I will plant my own seeds." I will create my own tree and I became the gardener of my own life. I nurtured opportunity that grew from the soil of my own decisions. The fruits of my labor are unlike any that hung on that fig tree -- neither perfect nor expected, but wholly my own.

In this effort, I found everything and nothing. A sweetness and bitterness that danced in every bite, weaving through each fiber, from tip to root. All the sadness of missed opportunity and the happiness of daring to create my own tree. It is mine, for better or worse. There's nothing I could want more.