Be Careful of The Poetry You Read Each Day During Childhood…

 Robert Frost.  I grew up spending many a long moment most days, leaning against the kitchen counter and waiting for the kettle to boil (tea addiction runs in the family), reading his poems that my mom had stuck on the tiles near the sugar and coffee cannisters.  “Two Roads diverged in a wood…” he told me.  I would run the lines of that poem through my head (“and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference”) and ponder on its meaning- wondering at the brave soul who would choose to meander off the conventional path of life and wondering if I would ever be so brave as to do the same.  I was not convinced that I would…

Now, at 28, with some necessary life assessment happening, and with a strong desire to be entirely picket fence and conventional, I find myself on the Frosty path, the diverged path, the path without the manual and it IS making all the difference.

28 is a nice, round number.  A number, I am finding, to be taken seriously, however. 

There is much that I have both going for me and not:

I own a car (tick), which, under my attentive care, seems to be falling to pieces (not-so-tick).

Viable love relationships seem to allude me (not-so-tick), but a few years of living in this reality has left me less in despair and more practical about it.  (By practical, I mean I have a bunch of good gal friends around me, am pursuing hobbies and increasing levels of creativity and I eat chocolate- tick?)

Currently, the Frosty wind that’s blowing on me is THIS life assessment reality- which is covered in plenty of ‘not-so-ticks’:

When I catapulted out of highschool and in the general direction of Varisty (having decided what to study by a simple process of elimination and a bit of ‘einy, meiny, miney, mo’), I did not know at the time that I had chosen to study the wrong thing.  Which should come as no surprise considering the einy, meiny, miney bit above.  But it has come as a Soberism to me, of late.

So, I am 28, studied, doing nothing much with that education and not really desiring to do much with it either, and I am at a crossroads. 

It would seem that, to put it in the words of another young woman I know whose life has taken a divergent course,  “it is time to put my ‘Big Girl Panties’ on”.

Clad in above mentioned Big Girl Panties, surrounded by other ladies contemplating their own Soberisms, I feel the need to be Strong.  There is no time to lie on the couch and bemoan my fate.  My Panties need to come with a tool belt attached (which would suggest some sort of action plan), possibly a head lamp as part of the kit and a bush whacker…

More to follow…


2 thoughts on “Be Careful of The Poetry You Read Each Day During Childhood…

  1. You make me laugh, my Jeanie. Loud and uproarously, which is good for my soul. I have learned that we always yearn for that which we do not know/have. When I was single, I longed for the security that a real relationship with a good man would bring me. Now that I have that, I wonder what it would be like to be single and fancy free… instinct tells me that I would be kitted out with a backpack and a map and I would be doing bar-work in a little town in Europe that no one could pronounce, including myself!
    I might be shacked up with some beautiful foreign man who keeps me awake all night and takes me for long walks on the beach and meals of seafood and red wine. Who grabs me around the waist at random moments in the middle of a market somewhere and twirls me around. And, knowing myself, in my moments of “freedom”, I would be stressing about the lack of security that said daliances do not offer…and hence pining for a Martin.
    I await your next blog………..
    Love your big sis

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