Off shortly to my fortnightly appointment with Dr C.
The title of course refers to the much loved Robert Frost poem “The Road Not Taken”.
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.
There’s an interesting discussion of this deceptively simple poem here: Robert Frost’s Tricky Poem.
Way back when (last century) when I studied History II at Sydney University with classmate Philip Ruddock I wrote a not very good essay on Edward Gibbon. I was trying to kill two birds with one stone, as Gibbon was also set for study in English. (Even the lecturer never finished The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.) The essay topic was odd too, being in French! Translated it meant something like: “What is a great life? A dream of youth carried out in maturity” – Discuss in relation to Gibbon’s ‘Autobiography’.
My dream of youth was to be a scientist. By youth I mean about age seven when, I am told, on our driving past the University – there was only one in Sydney then – I asserted that one day I would go there. That I accomplished at 16, the first in the family to do so. But Science didn’t figure by then. I also once considered journalism, but seem to have channelled that into blogging much later on, though I did write articles in English teacher publications and did a spot of literary editing. Still, it’s nice that now I am an occasional cub reporter for The South Sydney Herald. (My piece has been accepted, by the way. Dorothy was nice about it: “Just looked at your write-up of the Human Rights event – very professional! As one would expect from a person like you.” You’ll see it in June.)
I also was offered Law – twice: once when I left school, and once when I had a year out being an Insurance clerk for the MLC. But mostly my career turned out to be teaching English and History, and latterly ESL. (My other not much used teaching subject was Latin.) And an up and down career it has been, with a number of byways. Nonetheless it has had its satisfactions.
But who can’t sympathise with the ambiguity of that last stanza by Robert Frost?