The Road Once Taken
Frost reminisced of what couldn't be done. But what of the steps we do take?
I miss that first step that itch to put your foot down on dirt that isn't your hole. I miss that first step that foundation of a foot corn of one well-travelled sole. I miss that first step that morning blow to old tendons unrested restless soul. I miss that first step that yawn to break over the clouds just to reach that old Sol. I miss that first step that cracking dawn of starmelt over crunch of breakfast bowl. I miss that first step that shawl of jet black night a stolen nighttime stroll. I miss that first step that diminished print of my weight long lost to age-old toll. I miss that first step that haunting print now a fade breadcrumbs of my own whole.
Every grain of human ingenuity is a journey: whether you create something, start somewhere, run from something, or plant your feet down.
Whether the journey is literal or figurative does not discount the most important detail, that there is a beginning and there is an end.
And with each step, you’ll lose. Either completely or partially. You will still trod on.
Only then can you, at the very end, sit back, think back, and feel proud. Yes, there was a cost to that first step—perhaps a part of who you were, or are, or will be—but had you not taken it, would you still be here?
