you speak my heart, mr. frost

On Saturday, another dear friend will walk the aisle and take the vow. A year and a half ago, I rejoiced over a similar occasion and mourned the natural and inevitable mutation of friendships over changes in time and geography.

While my joy has remained constant, my sorrow has changed. In the course of planning the bridal shower, getting measured for a dress and participating in the various festivities, I found myself recognizing and grieving over the divergent calls on my life and the lives of most of my friends. I do not long for or even fully understand their desire for marriage and family. I cannot fully explain mine for adventure in faraway places.

I don’t doubt that my friends and I will support one another as before. But we will not travel the same roads as companions or meet the same battles as comrades. We have different callings and different priorities; my head understands and accepts this full well. But my heart… it aches a little. I will miss having my sisters at my side.

All of this brings to mind an old poem and the ambiguity of its concluding sigh – is it one of melancholy or relief? – which I’ve never felt so deeply until now.

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 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.