From birth, each person is set on a path—one path—that leads only to his or her final destination. Along that path, there appear to be forks, but just the one path exists.
Imagine a traveler reaches the his final destination and reflects back on his life's journey. Though he may want to believe it, our traveler was never going anywhere other than where he went. As he passed each fork, making a "choice" about his path, he only reinforced the next "choice" he would make, until his life reached its end.
I, for instance, was always going to become Heathcliff Heathcliff. I remember my mother reading WUTHERING HEIGHTS to me around Christmastime every year when I was a child. I never forgot the fascination she had with the character I abhorred, or the words she used to describe him. She said, "Poor Heathcliff. If only he had been able to give up the life he imagined was supposed to be his..."
That vague sentiment came back to me clearly the day I joined the ranks of the Undead. What other name would I have "chosen" for my new life when Miss Xavier asked me to supply one?
Think about it, and you'll realize that all the things you've convinced yourself were choices in your life weren't. You wouldn't be you if you had chosen anything other than what you did.
Your life, your path, already stretches out in front of you. The best you can hope for is that you like it even part of the time.
