Two roads . . .

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference"

Life is about a continuous stream of intersections. Life is about traveling. Life is like driving around it a car. Every day you are presented with a choice of whether to go straight, left, right, or make a u-turn. I think there are certain people that would lead you to believe u-turns are not an option or to be a fool to travel any direction other then the one you are presently going. And still yet there are other people that never get their car out of 1st gear, or Park for that matter. Can't leave out the people that have their eyes glued to the rear view mirror, or in the vanity mirror putting on lipstick or making sure each hair is in place. So why do I ramble on so. . . I don't know. No specific reason. Perhaps I just saw something on the side of life's road or outside of life's window to make me go off. Or maybe I decided to finally look at the map sitting on the chair next to me. Or maybe none of that at all. Who knows. If I did know, I doubt I would want to share such intimate details in such a public forum. Regardless, I have always been the one to analyze life. Maybe I put some things under too powerful of a microscope. Or maybe I occasionally look in the wrong end of life's binoculars. However, what I think it comes down to in the end is it is late, I am tired, It has been a long week at work (and it is only Tuesday night), and I am rambling on pointlessly making myself feel good about how smart I kid myself to be for my deep meaningful discussion on life. And that life is like the wind. Some days it blows. Some days its calm. Other days no matter how hard you may try the wind will do what ever it so pleases. Oh wait, that is every day. There I go again. And here I continue. Life = Wind. You can either fight it, let it toss you around, or you can ride it like an eagle/airplane/(fill in your preferred cliche here). Somebody make me stop please. Just try to find a photograph to go along with what I am writing. I think it would make my brain hurt too much. Till then.

For those that would like to read the entire poem, here you go:


The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

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.