It all began with a fork in the path.
Maria had seen the flyer pinned to the bulletin board at the local co-op: “Garden Path Experience — Choose Your Journey. Premium or Economy. Open to all adventurers.”
She didn’t know what to expect, but the words whispered curiosity straight into her bones. For months, she’d been looking for something to shake her out of her city routine: wake up, coffee, spreadsheets, sleep, repeat. The idea of a walk through a mysterious garden path felt oddly personal. And with rent taking a sharp bite out of her income, she circled the ECONOMY option and texted the number.
The next morning, she arrived at the garden gates just after dawn. A wide wooden arch read, “Welcome, Wayfarer.” Beneath it were two smaller signs:
- PREMIUM PATH – Curated botanicals, guided meditation, gourmet tastings, hammock rest stations, optional personal gardener.
- ECONOMY PATH – Self-guided. Minimal signs. Bring your own snacks. Nature included.
A petite woman in overalls greeted her. “Name?”
“Maria.”
“Economy option?”
“Yep.”
“Perfect. You’ll be walking the left trail. Just follow the faded bricks and don’t stray too far into the moss. It grows on everything out here, including good sense.”
Maria gave a half-laugh, unsure if the woman was joking, then set off with her backpack and a single water bottle.
The Garden Path Economy Option began modestly. A gravel line led into a shady corridor of birch trees. The air was cool and earthy. Ferns curled along the edges of the trail, and birds whistled tunes as if to welcome her.
At first, Maria didn’t notice much difference between her path and what she imagined the Premium one must be like. Sure, there weren’t lanterns or signposts or champagne fountains, but the scent of jasmine drifted freely, and squirrels darted in cheerful spirals around the tree trunks.
An hour in, the path split again.
This time, there were no signs.
She hesitated. The left was smooth but eerily silent. The right curved downward and was overgrown, but birdsong echoed from somewhere ahead.
She chose the birds.
As she descended, the trail narrowed into a ribbon of packed earth, lined by waist-high wildflowers and brambles. She had to swat at overgrown vines and duck under hanging branches. At one point, she slipped in a patch of mud and landed on her rear, laughing at her own clumsiness. A butterfly landed on her shoelace as if to say, “Get up, you’ve got more to see.”
And she did.
She passed a crooked wooden bench, half swallowed by ivy. On it lay a crumpled note: “Beauty grows where patience walks.” No signature, no hint of who left it. Maria pocketed it, oddly moved.
Hours passed. The sun arched overhead and then began its slow descent.
There were no snack stations. No hammocks. Just the stubborn, winding trail and the occasional rustle of something unseen.
She began to realize what this Economy path really was: a journey not about being entertained but about noticing.
In the absence of curated distractions, her senses woke up. She heard the crunch of beetles under leaves. She spotted a lizard basking on a rock, so still it looked sculpted. She heard her own breath. She even heard her thoughts — the real ones, not the ones dulled by emails and deadlines.
“Why did I need to escape?” she asked herself aloud. “What was I escaping from?”
The path gave no reply. But somehow, in the stillness, she felt one form anyway: From yourself. From forgetting how to look.
As night approached, the trail opened into a wide field of golden grass. In the middle sat a single tree, gnarled and vast, its canopy arched like a cathedral.
Beneath it, a man sat cross-legged, whittling a piece of wood.
Maria approached cautiously.
“Is this still the economy path?” she asked.
He looked up and smiled. “It always is. Sit.”
She dropped her backpack and joined him on the cool ground.
“I expected less,” she admitted. “You know, less…everything.”
He chuckled. “That’s the trick. The Economy Path doesn’t give you less. It strips away the unnecessary, so you notice what was always there.”
He handed her the carved wood — a tiny rabbit. “Take it. A reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That what’s earned through effort tastes sweeter than what’s handed over on a silver tray.”
The next morning, Maria woke with dewdrops on her jacket and the rabbit in her hand. The man was gone. The tree stood tall in the sunrise. The trail resumed.
She walked the last stretch slowly, cherishing every flower, every bird, every odd shadow. When she reached the garden gate again, the woman in overalls was waiting.
“How was your journey?” she asked.
“Wild. Honest. Quiet. Messy. Perfect.”
“You didn’t mind the lack of signs?”
“I think I found better ones.”
The woman nodded knowingly. “People think Premium means more. But sometimes, the Economy Option… gives you back the parts of yourself you forgot were missing.”
Maria stepped back into the real world — but she carried a deeper calm. She no longer craved luxury. She craved meaning. And oddly enough, a bit more dirt under her fingernails.
Garden Path / Garden Path ECONOMY Option…
It wasn’t about the destination. It never was. It was about the walk — the honest, winding, beautiful walk — and how, when you let go of polished expectations, you might just find something richer than gold.
You might find yourself.
