Un día, vagando por ahí, me encuentro una pequeña tienda de antigüedades. Entro y curioseo un rato. De repente, -como casi siempre que busco- me encuentro con algo que llama mi atención: una vieja brújula. La sopeso, la miro, la abro y descubro un poema de Robert Lee Frost, "The road not taken". Lo leo. Y me gusta. Muy apropiado, reflexiono.
Otro día, sin motivo aparente, -en realidad con motivos de sobra- pienso en él. Lo busco, lo encuentro, lo leo de nuevo -esta vez con un poco más de perspectiva- y entiendo que no sólo es apropiado para una brújula, sino también para la vida.
Dice así:
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.
