There's something to be said for the road oft-taken: you have companions on the journey and a sense of direction. The other is quieter and overgrown, virginal and heavy with potential; but you have to take it alone.
I feel like I've been wrestling with the question of what to do with my life ever since I "discovered" that I won't be able to save the world in any measurable way. I was taught to live according to my morals, take the hit for the good of humanity, seek justice and peace, walk softly on the earth. Above all, you must have a purpose to live a worthwhile existence, or to be happy. Stay focused on that and your personal ills will seem paltry and manageable.
One of the real bummers of the existential turn is the realization that we manufacture everything ourselves--we really can't escape our perceptions or proclivities, even briefly. That leaves us with a lot of responsibility for our own happiness. That's the definition of "existential dread" as I understand it, actually: the necessity of choosing for ourselves can be more than terrifying. It's a burden we avoid as often as possible, or at least, I do. I would rather be at the mercy of others' needs long before I would step forward to take the reigns and admit that I've created every moment to now and will create each moment afterward. Autonomy. It seems so solitary.
I call heaven and earth today to witness against you: I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life. Choose.
I have thought about this passage since my most religious days as a teenager, during those fitful years of love and darkness. Always it has been a passage about making the right decision, even when the decision had nothing to do with morality. Always there was a sense that everything is black or right, and however much you want to make the right decisions, you may not know what that is until it's too late. Often, the moments the passage finds traction, a loop to skip in my thoughts, are times when the choice is literally between life and death. Those dark, fitful times are never far from me, I suppose.
I know there is another way to think about this, a healthier interpretation, I know. Choosing life is about choosing to live right now. It's about choosing to live today. All you have to do is take care of yourself today. Let tomorrow worry about itself. Be here.
Roads diverge. From time to time, you have to step onto one path or another. I've always thought about the "less traveled" one in terms of the number of people on the path, but maybe I'm missing the point. Maybe it's not distinctive because few are willing to put in the hard work of an unusual life. Maybe the "less traveled" road is the one that meanders, that doesn't connect A and B in any kind of logical way. Perhaps it's the scenic route, defined by its unpaved peaks and valleys, and the softness of the river it wanders along. Perhaps it's the route of seeing, of being where you are, of sinking toes into the mud and running fingers through the ferns.
There is space for companionship on such a road; one needn't strive, so there is time. There is always time. And you need space and time for presence, for sitting with others, for waiting with them until the river recedes from its banks, for breathing deeply and connecting with one another and with ourselves.
That is the life I would choose if I were to choose well. I don't need to get anywhere. There is no right and certainly no wrong direction. I need to be here, no matter where I am, present to myself and present to others. Those two roads are always diverging: choose.
