Two Roads Diverged

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, but I chose neither one. Instead I left the road and forged my own path to embark on an untrodden journey through the woods that would take me through the darkest part of the valley, through mysterious fogs, and over mountains rising high above the clouds, unseen from the road, to arrive at a place where I can finally enjoy the last glimmering rays of light of a glorious time alone in the woods.

When I was a child, and even a young man, I enjoyed being alone. I built a wonderful tree house twenty feet above the forest floor in a white pine whose needles would sing to me in a light breeze, lulling me into a dreamy sleep while reading Henry David Thoreau. High on my perch there I would spend many an hour reading, writing, dreaming, and just being.

The world of people can be exhausting with so much energy and feeling happening all the time. Nature was my retreat to recharge before returning. Thank goodness I have always had the woods to find solace. Solitude was a comfortable place. Not an escape, but a place where my soul could simultaneously find peace and come alive. I guess I have always had my tuning set on sensitive... maybe we all do! I was easily stimulated, especially by the emotions and sensations of social interaction. I was acutely aware of the subtleties of other people and the world around me, and intensely empathetic, seeming always prepared to quickly tune into changes in vibration.

I am a wanderer, a dreamer, a seeker of beauty and truth. Mine has been a lifelong quest for authenticity which I have sought in both myself and those I encountered along the way. I have always been keen to notice the “flame of recognition” in the quick exchange of the eyes of a stranger. Did I see a certain remembering, a feeling that this may not have been the first time we exchanged glances? Did we know each other in another time? Another place?

I felt awkward as a young person and generally socially uncomfortable. While I liked people and made friends easily, I tended to float on the outside in any group, and protect myself from sharing who I really was. It has always seemed that I was from somewhere else and didn't belong here, but still I had this driving need to connect to people at a very deep level, at the level I readily found within the perch of my white pine treehouse. Such occasion was rare, of course, so most “friends” slipped into and out of my life, without attachment or regret.

Throughout life I have had occasions to meet kindred spirits and when it occurs I blossom like a flower in the warm light of like-minded familiarity. I have no problem traveling alone, but when the spark of my soul is set aflame by another who truly sees and understands, I am filled with the brightness of a thousand suns.

At times the path may have been difficult, but by keeping a wide open and curious heart, it has been mostly a fascinating, enriching journey. As I watch the sun dip toward the horizon in my later years, I turn more to reflection to find the meanings along the way. It is easier to embrace my sensitivity these days and accept my differences and better use them to my creative and inspirational advantage.

There has always been magic in the quiet hours. The quiet aloneness allows us to go deeper into that place that has always been waiting there to be mined for understanding. Most of us have a certain longing for the recognition of others. I've never needed as much of that to be happy. Perhaps our longing to be seen by others is just a reflection of our own need to clearly see ourselves - the primal urge to know ourselves truly, without masks, without judgements, without fears – that desire to look into our own eyes, the windows to our soul, and say, “I really see you, and accept you for everything you are.”

There’s a reason some of us walk a slightly different path - maybe to cultivate time and space so as to better nurture individuality and creativity; maybe to inspire change. We feel a deeper instinct to be the change we wish to see. This is our calling and we have to answer it because it is our gift and ultimately our truth.

There is real beauty in someone who doesn’t need to be surrounded by people or entertained to be content. I have chosen to find “the magic” in myself. It is real and tangible. You see it in the eyes of someone watching the sun dip below the waves from their solitary vigil on the beach; you see it in someone who looks into the night sky to discover that we are never really alone; you see it in the exhilaration of a mountain climber who holds the entire universe in his outstretched arms.

We are all connected by invisible threads that weave between us, cross-stitching our stories, lives, hopes, dreams and wishes to create a giant canvas quilt in which we all play our tiny part. We share a piece of ourselves when we meet, when we connect, when we touch, and when we love. Equally as important, we nourish aspects of ourselves when we sit alone on mountain tops, beds, or beaches.

I am a part of this great tapestry, whether alone in my treehouse or integrated with the world. We grow when we are apart and we learn when we are together. There’s a hidden gift in the separation from the whole - You can access the inner voice that whispers secret wisdom. You can learn to hear the voice of your heart, which is sometimes indistinguishable among the voices in a crowd.

Thoreau's mentor and compatriot, Ralph Waldo Emerson, said to, “Guard well your spare moments. They are like uncut diamonds. Discard them and their value will never be known. Improve them and they will become the brightest gems in a useful life.”

I have always loved and sought out my alone time, and while still a wanderer who senses he has traveled here from afar, I am comfortable in my own skin among the crowd. I love and accept myself, first and foremost, on my own terms. It is the foundation of loving and accepting all other selves for who they are on their terms. After all, we're all in this together. All for one, and one for all, together and alone.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

I took the one less traveled by,

and that has made all the difference.”

Robert Frost