The Road Not Taken
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 overgrowth
then took the other, just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted west
Though as for that 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

I’ve read this poem a thousand times, and it’s meant a thousand different things to me. When I was a teenager, it helped me to feel welcome in an unwelcoming world; in my 20s, it brought me to motherhood, and in my thirties, it encouraged me to start a new career path. Now, when I read it, I feel compelled to take a look at who I am. Who am I? What do I believe? What are my morals and my choices—what is my identity? Do I stand for my beliefs or sit passively in the corner?
We are all walking each other Home. We’re all headed to the same destination, whatever your beliefs, but we each have our path to travel. Some like the path they are on. Some do not, but they feel that that path is their only choice. They have made the choices that have led them to their present moment, and they think, “This is who I am. This is my life. I have no choice but to continue on this path.”
They’re wrong.
Our paths are constantly changing, depending on the choices we make. If you do not like your path, make a different choice. Sometimes that means following a particular pack; sometimes, it means being the lone wolf. One thing is for sure; our lives are malleable. The problem is we get stuck in our habit energy—the repeated decisions that we make every day. For example, I find comfort in routines. Change is tough for me. For most of my life, my practice was that of a stay-at-home mom. I loved it. I got up, got the kids ready, then—we’ll then, that’s where things fell apart.
I started by doing housework, errands, chores, book clubs, and writing groups. Then my anxiety, depression and ADD took over. I couldn’t function after the kids left. I would sit and stare mindlessly for hours at my phone, the tv, and nothing. I had no motivation, and I focused solely on how horrible and lazy I was. I was reading about habit energy from Thich Nhat Hanh, and he wrote about making small changes first—about the ripple effect of dropping a single stone in a quiet pond. So the next day, I got up, got the kids out, and went directly to my yoga mat.
I told myself I’d do a breathing exercise, and that was it—my brain was screaming, “What the hell are you doing? You’re tired! You’re depressed! Bad things are going to happen!” I closed my eyes, let go of the thoughts, and breathed. I felt an almost primal sense to move. I followed my body’s lead and went through a few old favorite sequences. And it felt good. After I was done, I felt like something had shifted.
From that day on, I followed that new routine. Get the kids off to school and practice yoga. Now, it’s not a perfect fix. There are days that I sit on my mat and breathe. There are days I skip it altogether and fall back into my old habit energy, but it has set me on a new path. I started taking therapy more seriously. I started writing. I began to make healthier choices. I got work as a writer. I began to have more days when I felt a sense of accomplishment. The ripple effect was one small change, and I was starting down a different path.
Now I am interested in getting to know who I am. In my path before, I gave up big pieces of myself. It’s not anyone’s fault; it was my choice. I wandered and lost myself. Now, I’m getting in touch with the things that used to make me, me. The music I listen to (which was censored for years for tiny ears), my hobbies, taking long baths by candlelight, walking barefoot in the grass, and flirting with my husband. I’m enjoying rediscovering the little things that used to bring me joy. My new path is a path of discovery. A path of healing. A path of recognizing my strength and weaknesses. A path forward.