The Road Less Traveled

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Abstract

ood was in my high school yearbook to illustrate the poem The Road Not Taken.”My dad loved that poem.The only one from his family to leave his small farm town to go to college, pilot a plane, marry a girl from the “big city,” and get a job where buildings scrape the sky, my dad never let circumstance dictate his life.He knew you could find adventure when you skip the roads with well-marked signposts and take roughly beaten paths that wind seemingly into nowhere.Unlike wide paved roads that lead to concrete buildings, or hell, the small footpaths invite you to explore.Following the meandering cow paths and pig trails on my grandmother’s farm, I used to wonder, “Why this sudden turn and that out-of-the-way route?” Maybe the lead cow was circumventing a tree that blocked the way or a piece of farm equipment temporarily parked. Or, maybe the sweetest grass was in that corner of the fi

Options

eld.The animals don’t overthink the route they forge. They choose their steps naturally with an unwavering decision. Once they decide the route, they’ll follow those same nonsensical twists and turns for years until a path is firmly beaten into the ground. They don’t care about efficiency or winning a race. If life’s a journey, why rush it?“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…”Frost’s verses were printed on my dad’s eulogy. After we laid him in the ground, I packed my bags and wound my way to a world I had yet to explore. To rolling green hills and high mountains and a sandy Black Sea. So different from sunny, flat Texas, Dallas skyscrapers, and the yearbook woods.I took the road less traveled. And what a difference it made!But, when the road diverges, you choose a road only to leave another behind.One always remains the Road Not Taken.</article></body>

Which path will you choose?

“Take the road less traveled, it makes all the difference.” Robert Frost’s words are laced with wisdom and wry humor. You’ll never really know where the other road led.

Driving through stately pine woods laced with dappled sunshine in my dad’s hometown, we’re heading toward a forgotten destination. My dad’s voice breaks the silence, “This wood was in my high school yearbook to illustrate the poem The Road Not Taken.”

My dad loved that poem.

The only one from his family to leave his small farm town to go to college, pilot a plane, marry a girl from the “big city,” and get a job where buildings scrape the sky, my dad never let circumstance dictate his life.

He knew you could find adventure when you skip the roads with well-marked signposts and take roughly beaten paths that wind seemingly into nowhere.

Unlike wide paved roads that lead to concrete buildings, or hell, the small footpaths invite you to explore.

Following the meandering cow paths and pig trails on my grandmother’s farm, I used to wonder, “Why this sudden turn and that out-of-the-way route?” Maybe the lead cow was circumventing a tree that blocked the way or a piece of farm equipment temporarily parked. Or, maybe the sweetest grass was in that corner of the field.

The animals don’t overthink the route they forge. They choose their steps naturally with an unwavering decision. Once they decide the route, they’ll follow those same nonsensical twists and turns for years until a path is firmly beaten into the ground. They don’t care about efficiency or winning a race. If life’s a journey, why rush it?

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…”

Frost’s verses were printed on my dad’s eulogy. After we laid him in the ground, I packed my bags and wound my way to a world I had yet to explore. To rolling green hills and high mountains and a sandy Black Sea. So different from sunny, flat Texas, Dallas skyscrapers, and the yearbook woods.

I took the road less traveled. And what a difference it made!

But, when the road diverges, you choose a road only to leave another behind.

One always remains the Road Not Taken.