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
And to me, the road looked bright and solid. Well-traveled, I felt surely adventures were there along that cheerful road waiting for me just out of sight.
A voice, soft and sure, from just behind my ear whispered warning. Not the road for you, called the voice, familiar as a warm blanket. Not this road. Not this time.
Stubborn, I turned again to face the road, and tentatively took a step, longing for the sunshine along that bright road to warm my face.
Please, warned the voice, joined now by a tiny chorus. This is not the road for you.
Temporarily blinded by my own narrow view of the way, I admitted the possibility-- however unlikely it seemed to me then-- that maybe I was wrong. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed in deeply. The I opened my eyes, squinting for an instant and, for the first time, looked down the other path.
I thought about my journey thus far, the roads and paths and winding trails I had taken and the companions who had joined me along the way, and the way they followed me, trailing behind in the distance, choosing their own foot falls but forever within the sound of my calling. Again and again, I had found my self enveloped in the cocoon of people who celebrated my victories and shared my sorrows, their concern as consistent as the rising and setting of the sun. I trusted their love, and in that moment I trusted the soft call of their voices. Perhaps from the far away hills behind my resting place the paths before me looked unequal, curving wildly and unexpectedly ahead of my feet. Timidly, I took a step in a new direction.
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Reluctantly and feeling betrayed by the sunshine, I sighed and began my long walk alone along the smaller path. In the quiet, though, I heard footsteps behind me, and found myself immediately surrounded, buoyed up, and ever so far from alone.
Two roads diverged in a wood and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken"
Entire text found here