Roads That Lead · 1:46am Jul 7th, 2021
As I sit here looking west, the horizon glows with the warmth of the slowly sinking sun while beneath her, little sparkles flitter in her evening rays. These sparkles are travelers, the lines they make as they dart across the darkening land marking the highways that connect between the great cities of the heartland and the roads that lead into the rolling farmlands and rustic homesteads of the countryside. Everyday, ponies cross over these roads; in the morning, their hoof steps clop in a measured rhythm with the birdsong that accompanies their march into the day, while in the evening a tired trot stirs the dust to mix with brief flashes of fireflies coming out amid the lengthening shadows. Looking at this, I am left to wonder: how many ponies have ever truly considered the roads they take, and where they lead?
The last time I wrote here, I had just been on a long road trip. And here I am again, traveling these same roads back to where I started. Yet, what feels like it should be an end is perhaps only a beginning. This is because the roads we take cannot follow us – they can only lead.
"Breeze - Comm" by Tsitra360
I got the idea for this blog several months ago. It had been a foggy morning, but as the gray blankets of mist began to lift, I paused for a moment on the side of the road. It was the beginning of my day, and I should have been on my way, but something made me stop to stare across the vast open space of an airport before me. A gentle breeze blew across the ramp, barely rustling a windsock hanging from a solitary post beyond rows of static airplanes. Droplets of dew, condensed from moisture leftover from the previous night’s storms, clung to the wings. As the sky awoke overhead, swirls of orange and pale blue glistened in the suspended dew. Beyond the airplanes, steam rose in thin wisps from the runway, excited by the fresh heat of a new day.
I am not entirely sure why I stopped there. I was halfway between my home and my work in a place whose only significance is that it is along the road between those two places. I should only have been passing through, yet I was drawn to this limbo. Somehow, I had found something there, and it was beautiful.
When we start down a road, what is it we hope to find? Are we trying to find something beautiful along the way? Or perhaps we seek that which lies at the end of the road. Some may be there simply because they were told to, or they have no other option, and thus they do not know what they will find. But there is a commonality in motivation, one thing which everypony hopes their roads will lead them to – happiness.
But there are many roads that can lead to happiness, just as there are by the same token many more roads that can lead elsewhere. One thing you need to know about roads is that you can only ever be on one at a given time. Sure, some roads may merge just as they diverge, and some may even intersect. But the fact remains the for the majority of our life, our hooves will be stained with the same, singular dust that we have chosen to tread through. Therein lies the dilemma – which road do we choose, and how do we know if it is the right choice?
There is no easy answer to this question. Before everypony is an immense network of roads, an immense set of choices to be made, and the permutations that exist are as numerous as the specks of dust that settle along their winding paths. It is a fundamental aspect of our experience, driving our story in the direction that can only be our own. The words of poet Robert Frost, in a work undoubtedly familiar to most, capture this essence:
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.
"My Little Schoolhouse" by Devinian
I often consider the roads that I have taken, and where, truly, they have led me. Along these roads I have adorned myself with the hats dictated by my choice: the soft, worn beret of the artist, the stiff peaked cap of the professional, the weathered fedora of the writer, the brightly colored ball cap of the fan, the pastel-toned sunhat of the friend, and at some moments, the flowery halo of the lover. On my back I carry the tools that I have acquired for these trades, while the wear on my hooves bears the sum of my experience. But only one hat can be worn at a time and only so much can be borne on the back of a single pony.
However, in exploring the roads before us we can make the greatest discoveries. A simple country lane, dappled yellow as the morning sun kisses clusters of wildflowers, can be rewarding to the lone traveler seeking to find themselves. Time alone on the road can attune our ears to the nuanced cadence of our own hoof-beats.
Or perhaps this country lane leads us to the shaded avenues of a charming little town, where we might discover how our hooves fall in sync to the rhythm of a friend. But in our cheerful parade through town, we may also glance out of the corner of our eye, bathed in the rosy hues of evening, the soft, smiling figure of her. Behind her is a road that promises to lead into a beautiful sunset; love is the most difficult road to travel, and yet is the most rewarding. However, the same may be said for all other roads.
"Autumn Storm" by Plainoasis
The simple truth is this: we can never know truly where the road we are on will lead. Just as traveling a road opens up the precious, sweet flowers of life that line its edge, so too does it expose us to challenges of obstacles and the violence of storms along our way.
I don’t have an answer as to where roads lead, as much as I have written here. However, I keep faith that wherever I go, it will be the right place for me, and that the adventure to it will be worth having. There is, though, one guaranteed thing that roads will lead to: memories. These memories are a story and that, to me, is why I am, at heart, a traveler in search of more roads that lead.
You make the absolute greatest blog posts, Mr. Otterton. Bravo. 👏👏👏