Choices: The Carried Path Approach to Decision and Direction
In life, we’re faced with an unending stream of choices—some loud, others quiet. Some seem to shift the course of everything, while others slip by unnoticed. But all of them, in some way, shape who we are. Good or bad. Right or wrong. Moral or impulsive. These decisions, whether monumental or minuscule, are the brushstrokes on the canvas of our lives.
There’s a staggering study that suggests we make around 35,000 choices per day. Most of them go unexamined—autopilot decisions like what to eat, whether to check our phones, or which side of the street to walk on. These might seem trivial, but they’re not meaningless. Because over time, these micro-choices accumulate. They form patterns. Habits. A baseline of who we become when the bigger choices arrive.
And it’s often in those big choices—when we stand at a personal or ethical crossroads—that we feel unprepared. Not because we lack intelligence or intention, but because we haven’t practiced presence. We haven’t built the discipline to pause, to breathe, to see clearly.
At The Carried Path, we believe that the quality of our life is shaped by the quality of our awareness—and that begins with how we approach each moment.
The Myth of the Isolated Decision
It’s easy to think of choices as isolated moments. You buy a car, take a trip, swipe on a dating app, send a message, stay quiet. But every action sends ripples outward—into your finances, your relationships, your mental state, your sense of identity.
I’ve seen it firsthand.
A close friend bought a car he couldn’t afford—not because he was reckless, but because in the short term, excitement blurred his long-term clarity. The emotional high of “new” outweighed the burden of future debt. That single choice delayed his ability to save for a home, added stress to his life, and left him more dependent on others for stability.
Another example? Imagine a partner of yours. Discontent in your relationship, sought attention elsewhere. Not because they were malicious, but because in the moment, validation felt easier than communication. But that choice—the decision to avoid discomfort rather than address it—fractured your trust in a way that couldn't be undone.
This is the nature of choices. They echo. And when we’re not grounded, we confuse impulse for clarity. We respond to discomfort by chasing relief, not truth. We mistake the loudest feeling for the wisest one.
Returning to the Present: The Role of the Daily Rites
This is why The Carried Path exists—not just as a philosophy, but as a practice. Because making wise choices requires something deeper than willpower. It requires presence. And presence must be cultivated.
We do this through the Daily Rites:
The Rite of the Burden – Our morning ruck is more than a physical walk with weight. It’s a metaphor for life. You carry what’s yours. You move with it. You listen to your breath, your steps, your body. It’s not about speed—it’s about awareness. This is where discipline begins. Every footstep is a reminder: You are in control of how you carry what life gives you.
The Rite of the Body – Cold exposure. The sting of the water against your skin. That moment when every part of you wants to retreat, but you stay. You breathe. You face the discomfort without escape. This is how we train ourselves to respond—not react. Every cold shower becomes a rehearsal for those hard moments in life when we don’t want to face the truth, but must.
The Rite of the Breath – Stillness is not laziness. In the quiet space of breathwork, we meet our real selves. The breath doesn’t lie. It tells us when we’re anxious, when we’re holding on too tightly, when we’re disconnected. Through controlled breathing, we reconnect to the center. This is how we learn to pause before choosing.
The Rite of the Mind – Through journaling, we reflect. We don’t just capture our thoughts—we confront them. We review our patterns. Our truths. Our contradictions. This is how wisdom is built—not in the heat of the moment, but in the quiet after.
These practices ground us. And from that grounded place, we begin to choose—not react, not avoid—but choose.
Present You vs. Future You
Next time you’re about to make a choice, ask yourself:
“Will future me be grateful for this?”
Will that version of you, one year from now, be proud of the choice you’re making today? Will they thank you for your foresight, your patience, your courage to wait?
Think about it: Do you need that new car—or do you want to feel something? Will that steak dinner really serve you—or are you numbing something? Will a new wardrobe truly change your path—or just momentarily boost your image?
These questions aren’t meant to shame. They’re meant to clarify.
Because clarity is what most of us are missing. And clarity only comes when we step back, breathe, and return to the present moment—the only place where true choice exists.
The Only Choices You Control
But what about the choices of others?
Here’s a truth many resist: You don’t get to choose for anyone but yourself.
You can’t control what your partner does. Or what your boss decides. Or how your friend manages their life. You can guide, you can love, you can support—but you cannot carry someone else’s will.
That’s not your path.
At some point, we must stop stretching our arms beyond ourselves—trying to fix, to rescue, to convince. We must learn the discipline of release.
If someone shows you—through action, pattern, or indifference—that they are not aligned with your values, you let them go. Not from spite. But from clarity.
You’re the master of your world, not theirs.
People may walk beside you for a season. Some will teach, some will drain, some will disappear. Your job isn’t to predict or prevent—it’s to stay steady. To make sure the ground beneath your feet is solid. That you’re moving from intention, not reaction.
Letting Go as a Choice
Letting go is often painted as a passive act. But in truth, it’s one of the hardest, most active decisions you can make.
Letting go is choosing to no longer carry what isn’t yours. To stop proving your worth to someone who can’t see it. To stop holding on to a version of life that no longer fits.
Sometimes the heaviest thing you’ll ever carry is the version of yourself that stayed silent when you should’ve spoken. That held on when you should’ve let go.
But from that weight, you can grow. You can rebuild.
That’s the essence of The Carried Path—not a perfect life, but a present one. One that meets discomfort with breath, doubt with discipline, and pain with presence.
A Final Reflection
You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to make the “right” choice every time. But you do need to be awake. To pay attention.
Each choice is a vote for the kind of life you want. Not just in the grand gestures—but in the small, unseen ones too.
So when you rise in the morning, when you lace up your shoes, when you feel the burden on your shoulders—ask yourself:
“What choice will honor my future? What choice aligns with who I truly am?”
That’s where strength lives.
Breathe. Reflect. Move forward.
You carry your life with every step. So choose wisely.
— Brian
