Turning point

[david]

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference

Robert Frost

There was never any doubt as to whether I would attend college – and little doubt that I'd complete a degree.

Both parents were college graduates; in fact, both had graduate degrees; both were credentialed teachers. I don't remember ever considering any alternative to matriculation at a four-year school.

For much of my youth, I even assumed that I would become a teacher like my folks. Alternate career paths weren't really presented to me, not that anyone – parents included – was pushing me toward academia.

In 1967, after living more than half my life in the same house, I became a wanderer; and have been on the move ever since

I interrupted my education and headed out, on my own, down a different life path. I had come to a fork in the road and hung a left.

The other choice – Robert Frost's “more travelled” road – could easily have held me in place, limiting me to jobs and homes within a few miles of Middlesex Drive. That other route could have led to a teacher's life like my parents', marriage to a woman I ended up never meeting and life as father to children I'll never know.

Last week I struggled to identify a mistake to regret; today I'm looking for a turning point. These twin assignments dovetail with a process I've been engaged in for way too long: an effort to analyze my past and to figure out what brought me to the here and now.

As I looked through collections of photos, several seemed to fit the bill. I looked at images from my two weddings, at first photos of the two children I helped raise, at snapshots from some of the jobs I've held and at pictures of some of the houses I've lived in.

I looked again into the faces of friends and coworkers I knew and then left behind and at travelogues from vacations and business trips gone by.

Several candidates for the most definitive photo emerged. Some triggered strong emotions and other stirred nearly lost memories of trials, tribulations and triumphs gone by.

Finally, I narrowed the field to a few images that were created at or near points in my life history when I made a choice. Most of those choices led to change; I haven't often chosen to stay put or even to remain on course.

The winner – the photo that may best represent me – is a 1967 shot taken on Middlesex Drive. I'm standing next to my Jeep, making an adjustment on the fabric top I had installed.

When I bought that off-road vehicle – my first car – I experienced a sense of freedom and of control over my destiny that I'd never known before. I knew that my “four-banger” was designed to go anywhere; I wouldn't even need a road and could manage just about any terrain.

A few months after the photo was taken, I packed most of my worldly belongings in the small cargo space behind my seat and drove that “mighty beast” from San Diego to Denver to begin training for my year as a VISTA volunteer.

I had been born nearly 19 years earlier in the mile-high city; and my return – as a young man on his own in the big wide world – was, in a way, a new birth.

Though I've spent less than 10 years, all told, in the Rocky Mountain state, Colorado still holds a very special place in my memory. I wouldn't bet against the possibility that I'll live there again one day.

When I bought it, I expected to use my Jeep for camping trips into Baja California, and for treks to the beach and mountains and deserts; these are all within easy reach, just an hour or so away from Middlesex Drive.

It was transportation to and from school and a means for towing our family's sailboat down to Mission Bay for a day of tacking and jibing in the sunshine.

But my four-wheeler took me to far more distant places. It gave me independence – and perhaps enough self-confidence to make some bold decisions that led me down that road less traveled.

I loved my Jeep, my four-banger, my mighty beast. More than any vehicle I've owned since, it carried me from one place to another.