On chance and choice, and the desire that connects them

I’ve been thinking lately about the trails we find ourselves on in life. Sometimes they are paths we have chosen, sometimes they are chosen for us by others or by circumstance, and sometimes they are accidentally stumbled upon.

To me, the word trail has connotations of something predetermined: a path that is already there to be followed, rather than carved out. Something like the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, which I walked a few stretches of last summer during an extended stay in Galicia. The Camino’s distinctive blue markers with the yellow shells and arrows point los peregrinos in the right direction, preventing them from deviating too far from the well-trodden path.

My view shifted while listening to a podcast featuring Robert Moor, who wrote an excellent book on this subject after hiking the length of the Appalachian Trail in 2009. Moor offered a more nuanced definition, describing a trail as:

“A line that evolves. It’s something that we follow - where each time you walk, you’re leaving a slight bit of yourself behind. And the next person who comes picks up on those signals that you’re leaving, and they leave their own signals. And over time, it keeps changing subtly…In a curious way, a trail is something that’s both terrestrial and liquid…Unlike roads...or especially railways, which are so fixed…a trail is very collaborative and organic.”

There is something lovely in this notion of each of us layering on top of where others have passed and making our own marks, which then lay the ground for those who come afterwards. It reminds me of ‘desire lines’ - paths that people create to form a more efficient or pleasing route than the one that is on offer. Here are a few from my next door park.

In a world that has been thoroughly explored and mapped, it is often difficult to forge an entirely new terrestrial path. Yet even within very designed and structured environments there is room for ‘liquidity’, and the creation of trails that open up new space in our thoughts and feelings, and new perspectives.

Sometimes when I travel, I play a game I call ‘Chance and Choice’. The rules are simple. I start walking, and then allow the streetlights to decide my path. If I reach a crossing, the green light lets me know which way I should go. If there are no lights, or all lights are the same colour, then I can select the direction. And of course if I really want to override the decision that chance is making for me, then I can make a choice to do whatever I want. This introduces some serendipity to the act of exploring, but also creates some useful boundaries. It also helps me to make decisions - which route looks more appealing? When is it worth throwing out the rules and going more by instinct?

In Paris this summer, a walk guided by chance and choice led me to La Coulée Verte - an elevated walkway that meanders from the 12th arrondissement to the outskirts of the city. I had forgotten that this Parisian ‘High Line’ existed, and spent a peaceful few hours sitting and sketching the plants, the trees and the view from the boardwalk, above the bustle of the streets below. I hadn’t intended to walk there in the first place, but once I arrived, I chose to stay and create.

Choosing which path or trail to take can be challenging, especially in times of uncertainty. This is a common theme in my work with coaching clients, who are often seeking a clearer sense of direction in different aspects of their life. Some people feel like they have no choices and are stuck, while others experience ‘choice paralysis' if they feel like they have too many different options. In both of these situations, the coaching work focuses on agency: exploring the spaces - however small - where an individual has the ability and the desire to act. And then starting to chart the next few steps forward. Not trying to map out the whole trail, but identifying the parts that can be seen and then moving in that direction.

This is what I take from my practice of chance and choice - that it is always possible to make a decision and act when I connect to that inner sense of desire and release the anxieties about making the ‘wrong’ move. Mark Epstein - a psychotherapist who integrates Freudian and Buddhist ideas in his work - writes eloquently on this, observing that:

“Anxiety and desire are two, often conflicting, orientations to the unknown. Both are tilted towards the future. Desire implies a willingness, or a need, to engage this unknown, while anxiety suggests a fear of it. Desire takes one out of oneself, into the possibility of relationship, but it also takes one deeper into oneself. Anxiety turns one back on oneself, but only onto the self that is already known. There is nothing mysterious about the anxious state; it leaves one teetering in an untenable and all too familiar isolation.”

So I offer my game as a way for others to connect with the mystery and sense of possibility that comes from desire, exploration and the practice of making decisions. Maybe it will lead to big revelations about your life, or simply introduce you to a new cafe or beautiful place to sit. Either way, I hope it opens up new vistas, and the opportunity to keep making and remaking your trail in a purposeful way.?

I work as a coach. You can find out more about my work at www.alexglennie.com - and do get in touch if you’d like to learn more about how coaching can support you.