The Road Not Taken

The road not taken, or the road less travelled? Many believe that American poet Robert Frost espouses the road less travelled. Evidence of such can be seen on Hallmark cards and well wishes when a major life decision ensues or a new life is embarked upon. But further, unbiased reading of the third and fourth stanzas reveal ambiguous wonderment towards the road not taken.

Presently, I find myself stuck at the fork in the road, being fed uncertainty and apprehension by the spoonful. And I realize that Frost was not so much commending  the road less travelled, but looking back on the repercussions of the road not taken. Sometimes, the decision is ours to make, like choosing our own adventure. Other times, it is simply a hand that is played, one that must be dealt with. Regardless, the choice is ever-present and fate is ours to carve, but the road we embark upon inevitably results in a road not taken.

And I wonder: Years from now, how will I react to the road not taken? With a wistful sigh, or with a sigh of contentment?

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.

Best,
Phoebe

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