What compells us to choose one over the other? To choose one street to get home and not another? To have a baby instead of following a major? To leave a safe paid job for an uncertain career in teaching independently? In my case I'm positive it is not out of survival. Nearly a century ago this poem was written:
Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.
1. The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The only problem is you can only tell what path was better when you die.
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The only problem is you can only tell what path was better when you die.
However I'm still alive, let's say in the middle of my road. Sometimes I'm sure I made the right decisions, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if or what would happen if. You can always change. Then, when you are about to swerve, something happens that lets you know why you took that path and then you know and things are al right. Sometimes it's time to wait, some times it's time to act and make things happen.
I take my paths compelled by impulse, by a desire to experiment, sometimes to explore, always by adventure, I seldom think, I always accept the consequences although not as easily as it may sound.
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