When your Tom-Tom becomes Bob

Goodmorning kids!

 This entry was written for you from the comfort of my own bed. Of course it being Sunday morning and all, but also because I woke up in cold sweats and a headache indicating impending doom. (Just to clarify this has nothing to do with Saturdaynight, in fact it didn’t get much more rock n roll than watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix with home made lasagna and a glass of wine. )

No, this state of being has much more to do with the future rather than past shenanigans.  You see I always was a firm believer in making choices. Admittingly, when I was younger (so much younger than today…) I was so certain of a lot of things and where I was going, I guess it never really felt like making a choice; I just knew which way I wanted to go.

Once out in the Big Bad World, I got a little overwhelmed by the choice one had, by the paths you could choose and all the implications of such a decision. Especially because the ticket I intended to buy (one way to infinite stardom and happiness) was never offered.  Since then I have just been hopping from sinking ship to sinking ship trying to keep my feet dry and my head sane or just hitch-hiking my way to where ever the road would take me. It took me awhile to recognise you don’t actually have to join every circus that passes your street. 

I also started to recognise that the paths that I chose to pursue (rather than the ones I just happened to be on) were much more fruitful and satisfying; even when the destination didn’t turned out to be what I expected, I still enjoyed the ride much more. Plus, the destination never ended in a dead-end: there was always another road to be seen.

So I have discovered people have choices, even when they think they don’t.  Sometimes the 5 lane motorway where all the cool kids seem to hang out with their Hummers and their Porsches can seem attractive and perhaps people get blinded by the neon signs and streetlights.  They are all going the same way, they don’t even have to think just put it oncruise control and you will still be going. The only excitement they get is changing lanes and only because you have see whether anyone is courteous enough to  let you join them.

So we have a choice and we know it as soon as we start looking for it. As some of you might know: I am geographically challenged. Spin me around with my eyes closed and I don’t know where I am anymore (and I wish that was joke.). But when all the lights gone out, the night is closing in and your car is such a mess that for the life of you, you cannot find your sat-nav: you only have one way to navigate and even I can read the emotional compass that is pointing another way.

One day, a long time ago, I found myself in a black-box studio theater space; loosely experimental as was the thing to do, all our characters were snippets or flashbacks of a disasterous memory in someone’s life. This someone had grown into an (hilarious) old Welsh lady who reminised with her friend about the days gone by. The piece evolved largely around a poem which is aptly called The Road Not Taken. The unfortunate consequence of making a choice is that you cannot have it all: you have the road you choose and the road not taken.

However, as you all know, the moral of the poem isn’t that depressing (0r it can be for the die-hard cynics who believe this poem is written for an alcoholic homeless person, with one leg and an eye infection living each day in the rotting underbelly of a city – personally I like to think otherwise.) Make up your own mind with the last stanza, on which I shall leave you this gorgeous Sunday:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood and I 

I took the one less traveled by

And that has made all the difference.

– Robert Frost

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