I flew out from my home in California for a conference in Boston and decided to tack on a couple of days to visit my mom who lives on the south shore. I feel sheepish admitting this, but the last time I saw her in person was when my dad died three years ago. On the first night, my sister Janis joined Mom and me for a leisurely meal at Cibo Matto’s. Janis lives one town over from Mom and headed out from the restaurant after our reunion. On our way back to the house in my rental car, Mom mentioned that she no longer drives at night. The glare from the oncoming headlights, she explained. That’s prudent, I responded.

It had been years since I slept over at the house. Lying on the twin-sized bed in my old room felt strange; thankfully, the walls were bare and painted a different color. Except for one small photo on the mantle over the fireplace, the house was devoid of my father’s presence. Mom sensed, correctly, that I was gauging her ability to live independently so she made a point of telling me about her circle of friends and volunteering at the library two days a week. Trust me, Mark, I’m managing well. Though I wasn’t overly anxious by what I observed, it was only a matter of time before her situation became a live issue for my sister and me.

After lunch the next day, I told Mom that I wanted to get in a hike at the State Forest while she was out grocery shopping. The forest is only a ten-minute drive from the house. I ran cross-country there in high school. Even at the time of my dad’s funeral I had a good handle on the trail network but the three-year time gap would be a test of my muscle memory. I decided on the trail up to the radio tower, a straight-shot climb that takes about twenty minutes to complete. Before starting out from the parking lot, I checked all my pockets and realized that I had left my phone back at the house. No matter; I knew this trail like the back of my hand and headed out for the top. At the summit where the radio tower sits, I paused to take in the autumn forest spread out before me like a rust colored carpet. Though I had become quite sedentary in middle age, my body felt surprisingly fresh and limber after the ascent. Rather than backtrack the way I came, I decided to head down a trail on the opposite side of the tower.

The trail quickly narrowed down to a single file footpath that snaked through a thicket of shedding trees. My mind relaxed once I got acclimated to the path, soothed by the experience of being immersed in the forest. Before long, I started brooding over my interactions with Mom. There was an unmistakable reserve on her part, as though she were conversing with an acquaintance not her son. Mom was completely different with Janis; their ease together was obvious. I had to remind myself: Well, that comes from spending time in each other’s company; proximity matters.

I made my choice years ago when I moved out west to get an MBA. Back at home on spring break my senior year in college, I collected acceptance letters from the various business schools I had applied to months earlier. Then came the one from Stanford, my stretch school. I retreated to the State Forest for a run along the trails that day determined to come to closure on my next destination. My gut told me that if I chose Stanford I might never return from California. There were also bigger doubts at play. I had zero aptitude to be a doctor and feared getting stuck in the law, so business became my choice by default. But I worried about consigning myself to a decades-long career that had no purpose other than making money. For a brief moment, I fantasized about taking a “gap year” instead - but to do what? I hadn’t the vaguest idea. Get real! I told myself. By the time I reached the parking lot, my course was set.

It's funny how your mind wanders on these aimless hikes. I next thought of Dina, who I met at Stanford. After marrying, we made a conscious decision to delay having a child; establishing our careers was paramount. Dina was diagnosed with cancer two years later. For the next decade, all our attention was directed at keeping this invader at bay. And Dina remains in remission to this day, thank God. By then, though, becoming parents was no longer important to us. That’s not true – it was a loss we came to accept. Sometimes a choice can dictate your fate; sometimes it’s the other way around. Either way, you learn to live with the outcome.
Now the trail was descending and putting pressure on my knees. Without stopping, I scanned the surrounding woods to orient myself. The light was waning behind the bare trees making it harder to figure out where I was. There was no other option but to stay on the path. As I walked along, my mind shifted again and the arc of my business career came into view. Not exactly fulfilling, I conceded, but it has stretched me in ways I needed. I’ve certainly been compensated more generously than I expected or deserved. Being able to retire early may be its greatest reward.

I found myself enveloped in the hush of the forest as the ruminating gave way to listening.

Perhaps I can finally be of service to Mom, I ventured. I missed out on Dad, who remains a cipher to me. To date, it’s all been on Janis.

I adjusted as my feet sidestepped some roots and picked up the pace.

Maybe find a second home on the Cape within striking distance of Mom. Dina would be on board with that.

Something to think about.

Just remember: inaction is a decision by default.

Abruptly, the path ended on a lip that slid two steps down onto a main trail. It took me a moment to regain my footing. I peered down the trail in one direction and then the other. With relief, I recognized the way and turned toward it.