I think it’s interesting how, in life, so many of us choose the same road to follow day after day after day. There is simplicity in following the same path in order to get from point A to point B. We find comfort in mechanically following the same direction as we go about our lives.
This was on my mind one day last semester as I left my college campus. I attend the local state college, Metro. I took a morning class that met at 7 a.m. and was in the Administration building at the corner of Fifth Street and Larimer Street. Once the class was over, I usually went straight to work. I always took the same way from school to work, traversing fifth street to Walnut Street, then seventh street to Auraria Parkway and into downtown. Downtown itself is a twisty maze of streets that can leave even a native lost.
But this one day, I needed to head home instead of downtown. I found myself at the corner of Fifth and Walnut contemplating my path. I certainly could turn right onto Walnut, making my way to Auraria Parkway and then Speer Boulevard and eventually I-25 north to my home. But I found my gaze wandering to the left side and saw how Walnut seem to meander underneath I-25. I found myself curious as to where the street went, if it were possible to get to I-25 north another way.
Without hesitation, I turned left, eager to find out exactly where this path traveled. At first, Walnut seemed as any other street and I wondered if I would be disappointed. But as I traveled under I-25, Walnut began to veer right and then left unexpectedly. I approached a crossing street and considered turning, but soon realized that might not be a wise choice as it seemed to be a deadend. Walnut continued on and veered yet again to the right and I saw a sign regarding I-25.
However, once I approached the sign, it proved to be interesting to decipher. Without much time to take in the sign, all I got from it was a reference to I-25 south, which was the opposite direction of my path. I moved on in hopes there was another highway entrance that would take me north. I soon reached another cross road, which seemed to say it was Colfax Ave. This befuddled me even more as I seemed nowhere near the Colfax Avenue I was familiar with; however, I could no longer continue on Walnut as it seemed to end when it connected with this new Colfax Avenue and my choice was either left or right.
I pondered turning left because I knew Federal Avenue was close – mayhap this new Colfax would take me to the safety of Federal and a street I knew so well. But once again my gaze traveled a different, unknown direction and I found myself turning right. Onto a road that was unfamiliar but strangely familiar all at once. I was close to what I remember as Mile High Stadium and a sense of deja vu crept up around me as I steered my car around the turns of the road.
I now saw the name of the road I traveled on was Mile High Stadium Circle and I felt relief at knowing I kind of knew where I was and yet it was unfamiliar enough that I also felt a strange excitement. The feelings of familiarity mixed with the sense of deja vu was such an invigorating experience. I then approached a stop sign. As I paused my vehicle at the sign, I glanced to the right, wondering if that was the right way to go.
As I looked down this road, I was suddenly hit with an intense wave of nostalgia as I realized I had been on this road more than once. As a child, my father would often take us to the games at Mile High Stadium. This road I was looking down was one that would take us onto I-25 north and on our way home.
I would watch my father drive from the passenger seat and admire his long, strong forearms as they steered the car around the tight curves of this road. I would imagine the power underneath his hands and how much control was required to use the wheel to steer this ton of metal. I would marvel at his finesse and wonder if I would one day, too, have that same ability. To so confidently manage a large vehicle like I imagined my father’s car to be.
I sat there in that present, for a moment lost in that past. The feeling of nostalgia swam around me in the air of my little shark and I basked in its presence. I felt a lump work its way up in my throat as I thought of my father. I then swallowed that lump as I turned right. I took each turn as I thought my father would do, remembering him each mile that I passed.
Two roads diverged in my path that day, and I – well I took the one less traveled by. And it made all the difference.*
*phrasephrased from the poem, The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost
Posted by mmkeekah 
