The Road Not Taken

I always loved this poem 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.

Like the poet, I chose the road less travelled, at least by many of my illustrator contemporaries. I didn't have the opportunity to attend many conferences and as a writer and illustrator have often been conflicted as to which to pursue more passionately. I was probably one of the last to open an online journal and to become agented.
I pondered all this as we river walked last night. No sooner had we gotten out of the van than we were met with heavy sprinkles. Not a deluge, mind you, just sprinkles that sharp and cold would have sent most people back to the van. We ended up in a gazebo type shelter over looking a pond. My daughter teased me about looking like the scene in SOUND OF MUSIC where Rolf is pursuing young Liesl in the glass gazebo.
The rain let up and we wandered down a hill and to the main road which we followed along the river. Suddenly my cane wnet nearly to the ground and I realized I'd lost a bolt and wing nut rending my cane pretty useless. (I can walk without it, but use if for balance for long distances and to maintain energy especially if a leg goes out; a nasty symptom of MS.)
A quick trip to a hardware store and my dear husband's ingenuity, it was quickly usable again.
Once home, I had some internet time and discovered paths some old online friends had taken. Enviably clever, moving from their traditional mediums with skills I sadly don't possess had shown them to have smart business savvy. So I glowered through the evening wondering what piece of the puzzle I'm missing. Then it occurred to me that while we're watching what others are doing, we might be missing our own uniqueness. A reminder to happily stay on our less travelled roads.