The Road Not Taken

I think push has come to shove and I'm finally disappointed with my job. It makes me wonder if I am not made for my line of work. Or maybe I just haven't found the right job yet. To move even further from those points, I have been thinking if I do want/have to move on from the job I have, what would I want to do?

Become a musician?
Get a law degree, become a politician?
Become a writer?
Get a finance job in a foreign country?
Sell worldly possessions and move to a foreign country to help other people in a genuine life-changing pursuit?

Of all these things, the most attractive option to me seems to be the last one. How great would it be to say that I changed lives for the better? Shit, I guess that's self-serving anyways. But you get my point, right? I'd love to make a difference in someone else's life for the better, but that's risky to me. That kind of risky pursuit starts to corrupt futures that could have been. It makes these futures into hazy pictures attached to a fishing pole. Except the fisherman attached to this pole is malevolently yanking the pole away from me right when I get close to chomping down on this picture or rather this future that could come into existence.

So what should this man do? He wants to take risks. He wants to guide his life by a directional wind with one finger in the air and two feet off the ground. Saying it like that makes the person more determined to have change in his life. Maybe not now, maybe not ever, but soon. There is still a string attached to his shoe-lace keeping him grounded. He's not sure what this string might be. Is it San Francisco? Is it the idea of finding love and settling down? Is it the fear of commitment or instability?

He's still happy where he is. He's just thinking ahead, because he can. Because he's young and unsettled. He's still searching for something. He hasn't found it and doesn't know what it is. It is somehow vampiric in its entirety. It can't be satisfied this hunger for change no matter how many souls I drain.

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.

- Robert Frost "The Road Not Taken"