I have been gazing at the city of Edinburgh from our room and I can tell part of my soul feels settled. My dream of going to school here to study writing (which never happened for many reasons) has been resolved, the regret and questions of what could have been are answered. It would have been something to be here in my youth, but my life has been just as interesting (and I am indeed a writer and a prolific one at that, though not the type of writer I fantasized becoming), and there is no answer to the question of what might have been. The prophetic words of Robert Frost have been whispering in my ear the whole time:

The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, 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.

Robert Frost