"You've got to move forward."

"Stick to the path. Keep going. If you give up now, you'll never get anywhere."

"Tough it out. It's just a temporary glitch. Don't give up every time you find an obstacle in your way."

Those are the words of my mother, my father and my best friend. They've turned into a relentless cyclone in my head, going round and round and round. I grip my head but can't make it stop.

Yes, I have chosen this path. No, I was not forced to go down that road. Of course, I had given this some serious thought before I made the choice.

But I was young. My thoughts were errant. And, frankly, my choice was stupid.

They say that you should be able to admit when you've made a mistake. But then they say that you should keep moving forward, no matter that forward is the wrong direction.

So, right now, I am still moving forward, propelled by the constant cyclone in my head, blowing me towards becoming a success.

And I want to be a success. I want to live up to everybody's expectations. But somehow I would like to live up to my own expectations, too. I would love to feel passion, a burning need to follow a certain path, fire in my soul. In other words, I want to turn around, walk back, find a different path.

But I don't want to be a disappointment. I'm scared of becoming a failure. Terrified of the told-you-sos.

As I look up wearily, my gaze lands on a photograph. The i360. Brighton last year. I remember entering the massive glass pod. My knees were shaking, flight instinct in overdrive. Still, I refused to give in, kept going. Then the ascend. It was slow, so very slow. My heart was pounding. I just wanted to get out. Why hadn't I stayed down on solid ground? What had made me believe that going up to the top of this huge observation tower in a see-through oversized bauble was a good idea? I had shut my eyes firmly. Refused to look at the wonderful view offered to me on a platter. Started to hum in my head.

But curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Halfway up, I opened one eye. The view overwhelmed me. My other eye opened on its own accord. I spotted my hotel. Traced the path back to it from where I was.

Then I turned, slowly, 360 degrees, until my eyes spotted my hotel again. I took a deep breath. Turned around once more. Took even more time. Looked at all the different paths. There were hundreds, thousands of paths. I started tracing them. Some were dead ends, but the vast majority led me to beautiful places, inspiring places, places which looked strange to me. I didn't know what the buildings were, but they held a strange appeal. My hotel was a safe place but it didn't excite me. It was just someplace to go to survive, to make it to the next day. The domes and church spires I saw, however, thrilled me, made me want to draw a picture, sing a song, keep going.

Only five seconds seemed to have passed, when I noticed that we were descending again. With every metre that we lost in height, we also lost the view of some paths, until we finally reached the ground again.

I exited the pod, collected my handbag and started to walk towards my hotel. It was getting late. It was getting dark. It was getting a little dangerous to be out and about on your own. But suddenly, my feet veered to the right and I lost myself in the alleys of Brighton. It was one night, and I had been all alone. It was the best night of my life.

I feel a smile on face. I haven't smiled in ages. I pick up the phone. When it is answered on the other end, I say, "I quit." The cyclone is finally quiet.