It’s my final column of the year, so you’re going to have to bear with me while I get a little literary. It’s a reflective time, and having grown up in New England, Robert Frost’s childhood stomping grounds, I know that it doesn’t get more reflective than his poem “The Road Not Taken.”
Most people familiar with the poem tend to remember only the final lines, out of context, as a ringing endorsement for individualism: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference.” But if you read through the rest of the poem, the speaker actually points out that the two paths were pretty similar—“the passing there had worn them really about the same,” and so the two paths “equally lay.”
The glamorized “road less traveled” is only how the speaker is anticipating describing his choice later on, “somewhere ages and ages hence.” But in his mind, he will always remember the two paths as equal and wonder what could have been had he chosen the other (leading him to say those final lines “with a sigh”).
What Frost is writing about is regret, and as we count down to the end of the year—and for seniors like me, to the end of our time at Duke—perhaps regret is something that’s on your mind as well.
Time’s just about up—did you have enough fun? Do you have enough memories? Did you check off everything on your bucket list?
As a general rule of thumb, I like to avoid regret. It’s a taxing emotion that gets in the way of happier reflection. Are there things in my Duke career that I could’ve done differently? Of course. I could’ve joined a different fraternity or stayed independent. I could’ve tried to work things out with my girlfriend freshman year instead of breaking up in November. I could’ve stayed in Durham instead of going abroad. I could have studied more for this test or less for that test; I could’ve written another draft for that paper or stayed at the bar for one more pint.
It’s natural to imagine the hundreds of directions your life might’ve gone had you made a different choice. But I like to think about it in reverse—every decision I’ve made over the last four years, large or small, has led me to where I am standing now. And while I wouldn’t say that I am standing exactly where I thought I would be, as I look back on all the good memories, the view from here is pretty great.
And while I don’t want to rely on the message of regret, I also don’t like the self-important justification provided by the simple reading of those final lines. What is it about the road less traveled that made all the difference? Is it somehow better just because fewer people have traveled it before? Is there a case here for Robert Frost as the world’s first hipster?
At the end of the day, there’s nothing to gain by trying to compare your own experiences to those of anyone else. Experiences are inherently subjective and personal; they can be different without necessarily being “better” or “worse.” Whether you were on the floor of Lucas Oil Stadium in the student section in Indianapolis or burning benches on the quad here in Durham, the fact remains that we won a National Championship and celebrating it was awesome everywhere.
It sounds silly and obvious when you say it that way, but I guarantee there’s a senior out there walking by a bulletin board with “Things to do in Durham!!” written in colorful ink, looking up and down the list and saying, “Man, I wish I had done that,” or worse, “Boy, if I don’t hurry up and do that, I’m going to regret it.” Those are the most dangerous regrets: not the ones you’re feeling now, but the ones that you think that you’re going to feel 10 years from now.
But at the end of the day, there is no perfect Duke experience—no cookie-cutter mold to try and squeeze through in four years. Don’t regret the things you’ve done or haven’t done. Find the things at Duke that you enjoy, enjoy them as much as possible and treasure those memories.
On a personal note, I spent my first three years at this school relatively anonymously, and I don’t regret those years at all. Then senior year came, and my name and thoughts graced the campus newspaper every other week; I don’t regret that choice either. Writing this column has been an honor, a challenge and a joy. I haven’t always made friends with my writing, but I hope I’ve made people think about campus life a little more.
I’m ready to graduate and move on to life’s next big dream without regret. Thanks for reading.
Bradford Colbert is a Trinity senior. This is his final column.
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