The path forks into two roads

The path forks into two roads in the twilight of the day – soon I’ll know which one to take. The journey promises either the joy of discovering new sights, or the warm welcome of familiar grass. Yet, now, in the agony of weighing if one is worth more, I learn the pain that comes from choosing which way I will not go. Now there is the angst of not knowing if, later on, I’ll look back and contentedly smile for the wisdom of the choice, or maybe I’ll wipe away a sad tear for the dusks and dawns I have forgone. Now there is the mourning for the landscapes I won’t see, for the company disappearing in the undergrowth, their warmth remaining among my dearest memories.

.

The two roads go deep into the woods ahead. The spring has filled them both with tender bushes and light green leaves. I can only be grateful for the chance to choose. Like Bob’s old friend, I stand before the two roads, and try hard to look down as far as I can. But there is just so much I see. My friends wish for me the nicer, more secure path, where I can discover new landscapes as I go; the safer way to grant me exotic food, ipods, and satellite TV. But the other leads to green pastures that do not offer more than their raw beauty and an invitation or a warning to build myself a hut to find shelter from the rain. And I’ll be able to decorate it with souvenirs from distant lands. And they will remain there and only change their color as they age. There is an awful lot of work that needs to be done there. At the end of the day, I wonder if I’ll feel satisfied, comforted, or recognized. Yet, just doing my work, I’ll have fulfilled my mission; my talents, intact or multiplied, will have found good use in my home town. The path forks into two roads… I can’t wait to see the day…

Written in New York, April-May 2005 when I had to decide whether to stay in the US or come back home to Tucuman