By Joe Byerly
How many times have you tried something new, only to find it didn’t bring the results you hoped for? In fact, that “new” thing left you feeling exactly as you did in the beginning—disappointed, frustrated, maybe even stuck.
I was talking with a friend the other day, and she made an interesting observation about the decisions we make. Often, we think we’re standing at a fork in the road—two paths leading to two different outcomes. But sometimes, we’re not standing at a fork at all. We’re standing at the top of a spoon, and no matter which direction we take, both paths curve back to the same place.
Maybe the “new” is material—we buy clothes, a car, or book a vacation, thinking it will make us happier. Or maybe it’s professional—we leave a job because we’re working too hard, only to find ourselves burning out in the next one. Or maybe it’s relational—we leave a marriage because we aren’t getting what we need, only to find someone else and still feel the same emptiness.
Maybe it’s because no matter what changes around us, we take the one constant with us—ourselves.
That realization is a tough pill to swallow. Most of us look outward first to solve inward problems. And maybe that works for a little while. The car is great. The vacation is fun. The new job feels different. But eventually, the spoon curves back, and we find ourselves right where we started.
There’s a poem that captures this idea perfectly:
An Autobiography in Five Short Chapters
by Portia Nelson
Chapter I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I’m in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
Chapter III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in—it’s a habit—but,
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
Chapter V
I walk down another street.
The first two chapters are the spoons in our lives. We find ourselves falling into the same patterns, situations, or mindsets—and it surprises us every time. If you look back, you might notice a few holes you’ve stumbled into before, even along paths you thought were different. Maybe, right now, you’re reading this from one of those holes in the sidewalk.
If we want to turn spoons into forks—to reach the point where we finally choose another street—we have to do the internal work that’s often the hardest. The kind that forces us to confront our patterns, challenge our beliefs, and change the parts of ourselves that keep bringing us back to the same point.
I’ve followed plenty of spoons to the same sidewalk holes in my own life. That’s why I keep writing about self-reflection. It’s the one practice that continues to force me to confront myself—to see the habits, patterns, and beliefs that keep bringing me back to the same place.
It’s taught me that before I take any step in search of happiness, fulfillment, or joy, I need to go inward first. Because otherwise, the path ahead will always be a spoon—with plenty of holes in the sidewalk.
Joe Byerly is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel with 20 years of service, including tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and command of a cavalry squadron in Europe. He earned numerous prestigious awards, including multiple Legion of Merits, Bronze Stars, the Purple Heart, and General Douglas MacArthur Leadership Award. In 2013, Joe founded From the Green Notebook.
A passionate advocate for self-knowledge through reading and reflection, he authored The Leader’s 90-Day Notebook and co-authored My Green Notebook: “Know Thyself” Before Changing Jobs, a resource for leaders seeking greater self-awareness. If this post resonated with you or sparked any questions, feel free to reach out to him at Joe@fromthegreennotebook.com.
