Boldness

And as I approached those cross roads, a decision was forced upon me. Not based on preference or penchant, but upon necessity. As I could see, these roads met as if ten million cross hairs had diverged from a singular point. Not total divergence, though, as there was only a small degree of separation between each. But, the difference was that I did not have – and certainly could not afford – the luxury of aiming at the center and letting life take hold of the reigns, pulling me to a place that would probably feel like an end, but truly only materialize as a point where rest felt comforting. And, as any well-weathered traveler can tell you, rest is a dispensable commodity – an unnecessary luxury, if you will. And, as I have explained prior to this, this choice that I was forced into was not a choice of want, it was a choice of existence; to put it abruptly, an utter choice of life or death, exhaustion or rest, existing or floating, absolute freedom or absolute compliance.

At this meeting of roads, I saw a singular road sign. It did not explain or lay out where to go or what lie in each direction, but offered a simple warning. It read, “Beware, you may become weary; but be wary of natives, for they may cease your travels.” And underneath this well printed sign, a past traveler had scribbled, “Never rest your head in a familiar bed. It is strangers that keep you moving so that you may return again.” With these two messages I realized that my life could play out in an infinite number of ways, a plethora of poor finalities or the handful of seemingly correct paths.

But I also realized that, perhaps no road was a correct road. For, all roads would hold a road block of some sort – it was just about choosing the road with the least enticing road blocks and the most distant final resting point. Then, beneath the sign, etched on a scrap of paper, I saw a final simple message. “Travel through the weariness, push on forever. It is not the destination, but the scenery of the travel that makes the road worthwhile. Live simply, keep moving, experience everything.” And stapled behind this scrap of paper was a selection of Robert Frost.

And as I approached nearer to that divergence of roads, I did notice the yellow coloration of the woods surrounding me. But I can certainly say that I was not sorry that I could not follow both roads. For I knew that every road was equally beautiful in different ways, but also that each road led to places characterized by comforting senses of mild misery. And I felt confident in my choice. It was a dark road, a road of uneasiness. So I took comfort in this fact, because this road, while terrifyingly new, was a road that led to an open mind, a real life and a future of unknowing.