The so-called “road taken” is a highly imaginary one. It’s a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end. An exhausting journey with many hardships, some ups and too many downs, and in the end—worthless. Time wasted.
I’ve learned absolutely nothing from “the road.” Yet I’ve learned a lot about myself, foremost—that I was not able to solve “the riddle.”
It took me a life to come to understand that all I’d pursued had been fruitless—all I’d read, learned, studied, analyzed, all the fancy philosophies, concepts, ideals, utopias, all the Gurus, all I’d hoped for and dreamed of.
The road taken led to an abyss where I was finally staring down in this deep dark impossible ravine. And yet, at some point, abiding in darkness and hopelessness, and with no apparent cause at all, all went straight through the toilet. Was flushed out of my system.
I understand now that nothing can make “that” happen. No causality there. No road, no sideways, no paths, signposts, or highways. All efforts lead to fantasies only, to an non-existing pot of gold, and at length—to utter exhaustion and desperation. Perhaps… that desperation, that total exhaustion… is then “the best” that can come about.
One can take any possible road, and most probably one should do that, and go for it. Because we perhaps only learn from our own efforts. From our own failures and helplessness.
Maybe today, I’m a sort of “entitled” to claim that the road taken, my road, was entirely fruitless. A pointless enterprise. Completely unnecessary. I surely could have spared me the effort.
Still, as paradoxical as it is—this darn road taken brought me home. It finally brought me to this place I’d never left really. Only in imagination.