For the last several months I have toyed with the idea of starting a blog for my own personal enjoyment. I already have a blog for my business, but I wanted a place where I could explore whatever those ideas, events and activities that capture my attention. I was looking for a way to capture the process of exploration -- and if others found the process interesting, so much the better!
Then I ran into an unexpected difficulty. What would I call this space? I remembered my Classical History studies from college, and my thoughts turned to a favorite quote from Socrates: "The unexamined life is not worth living." Perhaps I could title my blog The Examined Life. Unfortunately, that name is already taken. Perhaps not a bad thing given how it all turned out for poor Socrates.
In search of inspiration, I turned to my bookshelves. Perhaps a cooking term, like mirepoix? No. I'd rather capture the idea of a sense of place. So, authors . . . Aldo Leopold? Michael Pollan? Wendell Berry? None were quite right. What about Henry David Thoreau? Close. Ah! Robert Frost -- the most quintessential of New England poets! That would do perfectly. Yes, it is a bit of a cliche. But it became a cliche for a reason -- and at least I'm not calling my blog The Road Less Traveled. I thought of it . . . but I didn't go with it (the name was already taken)!
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost, 1915
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
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.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
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.
