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.
Thought I'd share this since I alluded to it in my last entry, and because it is one of my favorite poems of all time.
After my entry 2 nights ago, I've learned that sometimes giving voice to inner angst is very painful. I cry, without knowing why I'm crying, and feel generally quite lost. I suspect this phase will pass soon enough, leading into yet another stage of whatever is happening, be it grief or some other process of dealing with the uncertainty and challenge that face me and the ones I love.
So, while keeping things inside and pushing the worry aside was easier in some ways, I know that only in letting it out will I be able to move on through to the other side. And really, the bottling things up, even when done unconsciously, is pretty darn harmful all by itself. But really, I'm not in love with the tears and feelings of fragility. Bring on the next phase of healing!