There was never a choice, Mr. Frost.

When dear Robert Frost wrote about taking the road less traveled by...he made it seem as though he had a choice. While I have never been blinded to the traveled road, it never invited me...seemed far too noisy, a lot of signage, too much direction. I could never have gone that way being who I am. And I wonder if Frost, in his aged wisdom, discounted the reality that few of us have a choice at who we are innately. Maybe he wanted us to believe that we could find solace on any path. I believe that the road that beckons us forward is the road of our life and I do not think that traveling elsewhere is a possibility. There are ideas that choice always exists, and I can buy into that. I do choose whether or not to keep a job, wear shoes, feed the dog, plant mums, carve pumpkins...but the me of it, was no choice at all. It came with the package. And the road I'm on...though at times foggy and unmaintained...is my road. I tend to like the dirt roads best. Dirt roads feel good under your skin. They shift and change according to rainfall or wind. They lay in cool shelter under trees that crowd their shoulders. They are quiet...while the road over the hill roars by. I am happiest on a dirt road because it doesn't know the answers. It was carved out quickly and left to figure out the rest. It feels like my own story.