Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and Frost took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. Except the poem actually says both paths were worn really about the same. Frost wrote it as a joke about his friend Edward Thomas, who was always regretting choices on their walks. The poem is usually misread as inspirational; it is actually about how we construct narratives of destiny after the fact. Both roads were equal. The difference is the telling. We say we chose. The choice was arbitrary. The poem knows this. We forget it every time.