For a moment, the source of the phrase eluded us both, so I Googled it. Before the search was complete, I remembered. I even remembered hearing Robert Frost reciting The Road Not Taken, and I recalled reciting it myself in workshops and seminars.
Now, it's almost 4 AM, and I can't shake the poem—truth is I'm not trying too hard to shake it. So, I decided to check out images of country roads with forks. I found quite a few, but stopped when I found the one above. Actually it jumped out of the pack, selecting itself. I posted it and immediately realized that I can look at it, throw my eyes out of focus a bit, and recall facing and making that decision some sixty-five years ago.
Actually, as decisions go, it wasn't much of one. I approached the fork, saw the choices, and barely slowing, took the road to the right. I didn't take it because it looked the easiest, and it hasn't been. I didn't take it because I figured I'd have a lot of company along that way, and I've met precious few who shared my choice. I didn't take it for any reason other than I knew it was the way for me to go, and that has made all the difference.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
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.
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