“Finding Yourself on the Road Less Traveled”

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…”

We all know those lines.

Robert Frost’s timeless poem “The Road Not Taken” has long been quoted as a celebration of non-conformity — a bold anthem for those who dare to forge their own path, questioning the norm instead of simply falling in line.

We picture the traveler as a free spirit, striding confidently into the unknown while others follow the crowd — choosing the unfamiliar over the explored. Kind of like Jack Kerouac, making big life decisions arbitrarily as part of one great experiment.

But at this point in my life, the poem reads differently.

To me, it speaks to something far more personal—

and far more true to the human experience.

We tend to flow through our days unaware of the overarching impact of our choices because life has a way of guiding us down familiar paths.

Sometimes those paths are comfortable, predictable, even soothing in their routine.

Yet over time, they can become well-worn trails of pain, burnout, or quiet self-destruction.

We keep walking the same direction, hoping the road will eventually bend toward something brighter—

all the while ignoring how heavy our steps have become,

until we no longer even notice the weight.

In the sum of my life’s experiences, I’ve come to see the two roads in Frost’s yellow wood differently than I once did.

They are not simply a choice between conformity and individuality—

but between habit and healing, comfort and courage.

The “well-worn” path represents the patterns we know—

the repetitive cycles of thinking, relating, or coping that keep us stuck.

They’re easy to return to because they’re familiar, even when they’re not good for us.

These choices come almost automatically, requiring little thought or reflection.

But the other road— “grassy and wanting wear”— asks something harder of us: bravery.

It’s the road of change—

one that demands the kind of inner strength that only begins with self-reflection and tenacity.

It’s the uncertain path that begins with a quiet decision to do something differently than before.

To boldly step into the unknown.

To trust that maybe, just maybe,the discomfort of the unfamiliar is where true healing and transformation begin.

I  often imagine Frost’s weary traveler standing at that divergence—

the exit of the roundabout he’s been circling for far too long.

He pauses, faced with a choice:

Do I continue as I always have, or dare to step into something new?

And in that stillness, he does something sacred.

He listens to the whisper within— and chooses himself.

He dares to believe that there is something more.

That stepping off the beaten track might lead him not just somewhere uncharted, but somewhere that’s whole.

Somewhere light.

Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is turn away from what’s familiar.

To let go of what no longer serves us.

To stand up when we’ve been sitting down.

To find our voice after a lifetime of being quiet.

To finally say no after a million compromising yesses.

To trust that the new path appearing before us — however uncertain — was placed there by the One who knows the way,

even when we cannot see it.

So if you find yourself on a black-trodden path—

one that blocks out the light and keeps you moving in circles of pain or self-doubt—

pause.

Look around.

Somewhere nearby, the untrodden road—

the one that has been waiting for you all along—

is quietly calling your name.

Don’t be afraid to step into the unknown wood.

To finally turn right instead of always turning left.

Because sometimes, the smallest turn of direction is not just a change of course —

it’s a return to yourself.

And that, more than anything,

makes all the difference.

With You at the Crossroads,

Emily

Ash and Bloom