I prefer to rip off the likes of Frost as opposed to the phony Peck in this instance.
I chose this life. Or it chose me. In any case, it’s a story about not taking roads, and taking roads less traveled. It’s about not following the prescribed fate of the (cursed, for some) American dream. Picket fences, 2.4 children, midnight Christmas mass in furs and suede, aprons and offspring and cookies and husbands and shit. None of that lives here.
I walk my roads alone. There’s no husband, no partner, no God here. It takes courage. Courage to do this brutal and divine and eccentric and confusing and troubling and blissful life in the most authentic way I know how and standing on my own two feet without someone there propping me up. Courage to stand up and say “this is who I am and I make no apologies for the person I have become.” Saying this to the very people who birthed and raised me, yet don’t know who I am by their own choice. Choosing not to see the person who takes the uncommon road. Loving an idea rather than a truth. Well eff that.
Some days it makes all the sense in the world. Some days it makes no sense. Some days it’s torture.
Today it’s blissful. There are snoring dogs. And good wine. And good friends. And a previous night with an (unrecognized) soulmate. Not the kind of night you are thinking. But passionate nonetheless.
For today, it’ll do.
