I had this idea of what my life would be. I would escape from my parents' home, go to college, get a tv series, and live happily ever after. Instead, I found out I was no actor, and no doubt for the best as I would have hated the life. I married the wrong person, moved across the country, and wound up studying science, in a war zone, with a good person, then further education and training, and a different sort of life than I could have imagined, but which suited me much better.
One never knows, really. Or at least, the people who seem to know probably just chanced on the right path early. Plan? There ain't no plan. I don't need no fucking plan. I don't got to show you no fucking plan.
The Trousers of Time have at least a couple of legs each, and who knows which leg one will wind up in? Or which one was initially intended? If, indeed, there was anyone to do the intending.
Each choice leads on to another series of options, and we do what we can with what we have. Bad decisions eliminate a lot of possibilities, as do safe ones. And we wind up more and more who we are, as our actions and the results, form us and mark us.
Here I am, now, for good or ill.