“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— / I
took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.”
These
lines from the poem appear on many a t-shirt and poster. They seem to affirm a
spirit of self-determination, and what’s more, the intrinsic rightness of going
one’s own way. Wherever the mass of people are going – the well-traveled way –
the truly independent spirit will go the other way, take the road less traveled
by, and because of that contrary
choice, will flourish.
Frost’s
poem is great for many reasons, such as the understated description that
perfectly evokes an autumn walk in New England woods, but one reason it is
great is that it is not the poem most
people take it to be. Frost has something to say about making choices in “The
Road Not Taken,” but what he says cannot be summed up in those often-quoted
lines.
When the
narrator makes his choice, he takes the road that, in the last stanza, he
describes as “the one less traveled by.” But was it? Here is how he describes
it as he makes his choice:
[I] 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...
The road
he chooses is equally lovely, equally untrodden, and only perhaps has less wear than the other.
Sometimes
our choices really are between good and bad, or better and worse. Sometimes we
do need to take the road that no one else is taking; if all the world is
rushing headlong into madness, “the road less traveled” is the best road. But
in this poem the two choices are each “as
just as fair” as the other.
What do
we do when choosing between two good things? What do we do when the turnings
ahead are such that we truly cannot tell where the path we choose will lead us?
I have
an analytical mind; I like to weigh things out, to know that what I am doing is
the best path, the best approach. But I’ve come to realize over the last few
years that I never have all the information. Some things cannot be known until
they are experienced: relationships, job choices, even choices about what to
write or what to read. And so I have to
choose my road knowing that I can only see a short distance ahead before the
path bends “in the undergrowth.” If I wait until I have all the information, I
will never go anywhere.
The
narrator here is, in fact, almost paralyzed by choice – “long I stood / And looked down one as far as I could” – but in the
end, he chooses. He goes forward. He takes
one of the roads. We could say that the
act of choice is what, in the end, makes all the difference.
Yet the
poem is hardly a paean to decisiveness, for “The Road Not Taken” ends on a
curiously hesitant note. “I shall be
telling this with a sigh,” the narrator says. He still thinks of the other
road as an option – “Oh, I kept the first
for another day!” – even while admitting that “knowing how way leads on to way, / I doubted if I should ever come
back.”
I don’t
want to be telling my own story with a regretful sigh, "ages and ages hence," having chosen
my road hesitantly, dragging my feet, looking back, always wondering if the
other road is better. Whether my choices take me on a road less traveled, or a
good road well-traveled, I hope to be fully present to the path before me and
to my fellow travelers.
I am
reminded of the words that C.S. Lewis gives to the lion Christ-figure Aslan in Prince Caspian. The little girl Lucy is
regretful that she had disregarded Aslan's call to her, and had made excuses
for not following him. She asks Aslan to tell her how things would have
unfolded if she had chosen otherwise.
“To know
what would have happened, child?”
said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that... But anyone can find out what will happen.”
Thanks for making me think about this one. The narrator makes a choice that he feels is insignificant at the time, and he expects that he will (falsly) give it significance at a future time. I think he sighs not because he has mild regrets about not taking the other path, but because he knows he'll give his decision undue significance. I don't think the act of choosing is really on his mind. He does make a choice, of course, but there are obviously more choices than are described. He could have turned around and came back on the path he had come...or even not chosen and stood at the fork in the road until death (not likely, but not choosing is just as much a choice).
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