Thoughts in Response to Robert Frost's Road Less Travelled.
Life is not a straight highway but a series of watersheds. where choices carve rivers that diverge toward distinctly different fates. Each decision—whether small or monumental—reconfigures the terrain of our lives, sending us toward unique destinations.
Unlike water drawn to its course by gravity, we're not powerless. We make choices, often incrementally, that redirect our flow. Yet, all too often many people allow themselves to simply drift, mistaking passivity for fate.
Choices have consequences, and failure to choose is itself a choice. The weight of that truth can be paralyzing. Ishiguro highlights this in his novel The Remains of the Day. Stevens, the butler, (played by Anthony Hopkins in the film) fails to choose between his rigid devotion to duty and his suppressed feelings for Miss Kenton. This heartbreaking indecision costs him a chance at personal happiness, leaving him with regret and a sense of a wasted life as he reflects on his past.
So we avoid the work required to accomplish great things and choose the path of least resistance, because choosing boldly demands sacrifice.
The deepest longings of our hearts—whether to create, to love, or to achieve a significant goal—require effort, risk, and often pain. Most of us shy away from that. Work is daunting; ease is seductive. We convince ourselves we lack control, preferring the comfort of inertia to the labor of pursuit. But in doing so, we diminish our own dreams, letting them fade into whispers of “what if.”
Oh how powerful the temptation to become subsumed in the lamentations of regret. Here I think of Jason Robards as Charles Halloway, the father who gets lost in the hall of mirrors in the film adaptation of Something Wicked This Way Comes. I've often said the mirror of our acts reveals who we are. But in the hall of mirrors, regret distorts what we see and becomes a merciless accuser.
Great achievements are not gifts; they are forged. The scientist burning midnight oil, the artist pouring his or her soul onto canvas, the dreamer defying all odds and expectations—they all pay a price.
Sacrifice imbues value. A goal reached without cost feels hollow, like a trophy unearned. The mountain’s summit is sweeter when the climb scars your hands. Yet, too many of us simply ramble about, sidestepping the steep trails for smoother paths, trading aspiration for apathy.
Remember, we're not condemned to drift, blown about like desert tumbleweed. We can choose to dream big, to reach for the stars, knowing the cosmos demands courage. Each step toward a lofty goal is a rebellion against complacency, a declaration that our desires are worth the struggle.
If you're like me, at some point in your youth you likely asked, "Why am I here?" Today, with seven decades under my belt, I can answer this question by looking back at the decisions I made and where those paths took me.
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The meandering thoughts above are an amplified version of my 2008 blog post titled Ramble or Reach?
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