Robert Frost, winter woods, and letting go

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.

I love this poem. It’s one of my favourites. It sprang to mind this morning while I was out back walking the pup although our woods aren’t yellow at this time of year. Rather they are grey and white and the trees are nearly silent in their winter sleeping.

The past few days it’s been quiet in the back, but this morning the chickadees were busy chirping and chasing each other through the branches of the aspen. I could hear a nuthatch somewhere above my head. About two thirds of the way along the looping trail a rustle of branches caught my attention. I stopped then stepped closer peering past the spruce branches. A ruffed grouse was walking silently on top of the snow along a fallen tree that lay under the spruce.

It was beautiful this morning, walking, listening, laughing at the pup as she raced along the trail and then back to me again.

It was when the trail took a gentle curve to the left that the lines of Frost’s poem came to me…

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…

How do you know…

The thought occurred to me…what if he wasn’t walking alone? What if when he came to the fork in the road he chose one way and his companion went the other?

How do you know when it’s time to move on from someone who has been part of your life? How do you know when a relationship is over? How do you know when it’s time to walk away?

Several times in the past year, I’ve had to consider whether or not to hold onto a relationship. To be very clear, not one of these times was my marriage ever the relationship in question. Each one involved people with whom I had been quite close in the past, but for very different reasons in each case, I had to decide whether or not it was time to let go and walk on.

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

2018 was a year of letting go for me. I spent a lot of time in contemplation and meditation, learning how to let go of things that weren’t mine to carry or control. I had to practice breathing techniques and relaxation methods over and over to help me let go of my worries so I could sleep at night. I found an amazing energy healer who has been helping me immensely as I learn to sort through some deep and occasionally messy parts of myself.

I’ve become more thoughtful and even particular in the people I allow to ‘sit at my table’; those people who I count on to encourage, support, and even to challenge me. I want … I need people who are willing to respect the choices I make and encourage me to follow the path I feel is best for me even if they don’t agree with me. I need people I trust enough to be myself around, really, really be myself.

It’s how I knew it was time to let go. I couldn’t be myself with these people without feeling judgement. I couldn’t show them the truth of who I am now without feeling as though I wasn’t meeting their expectations of what was acceptable. So I let go.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

It’s bittersweet. I’m at peace with my decision and yet I’m a bit regretful as well. Maybe regretful isn’t the right word. Maybe I’m only sorry because it hurts a bit, walking away. It’s like growing pains as a kid, that dull ache in your bones as they stretch and grow. Painful, but necessary.

So while I wait for the ache to subside, I’ll keep walking in our woods, among the trees that I find so soothing. It won’t be long until the sap starts to rise slowly beneath the bark as the trees come back to waking. The tips of the branches will start to thicken as the leaves begin to form their small buds before bursting forth with that gorgeous vibrant green colour, with the promise of hope that always comes in the spring.