To the beat of a different drum or a road not taken

I recall when I was a young girl, I got a note from a teacher at the end of the school year saying “Pam you march to the beat of a different drum, don't ever change.” I didn't quiet fully understand until much later what he actually meant. To this day I can't say to which portion of my life he was referring to and to be honest I've probably spent a fair great deal of time reflecting on that statement. It's amazing how few words can take up so much of your time, or perhaps it's just me. I try and see things at every angle, certainly one of the angles I have pondered has to be closest to the truth. I have decided that the statement encompasses all aspects of my life. I make my way along a road less travelled and certainly I have come across the most interesting people there. Some stay in my life for long periods of time and some blow across my path like leaves caught in an puff of wind skittering and dancing across my path. Some of those people I meet flit in and out of my life like a squirrel jumping from one branch to another and others they appear and leave for great lengths of time just like a bird flying home from a winter away. All have been interesting in one way or another. I have given myself to them in one shape or form and the most precious gift we can give someone is our time. That is truly giving of ones self. Perhaps that teacher was correct I do march to the beat of a different drummer. Perhaps that is why my life hasn't been typical and has lead to some isolation and lonesomeness, but I wouldn't trade that for a road more travelled and the mundane. Here is my favourite poem by Robert Frost:

The Road Not Taken

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.