Do you know where you are going? Or are you just along for the ride? Do you know where you want to end up at? Do you feel a purpose to your existence? Is there anything you really, really want with all your heart despite knowing you will never have it? Are you driving down the same road as everyone else or are you off down your own little track?

Sometimes, I feel my life is like driving up to Dawson Falls on the Mountain of Mountains - Mt Egmont (sod off, it's Egmont not bloody Taranaki, ya wallies); all narrow and twisting and turning, overshadowed by the heavy bush, road dampened by the rain... quiet and lush in a way that says " you don't belong here, keep driving"... turn, twist, up and up with the promise of a fabulous view when you reach the Falls...

...and when you reach the Falls (if you reach the Falls, cos sometimes you can see where people left the road), you realise that this is still only the start; from here are many tracks that lead off from the carpark snaking their way up, and around the mountain leading climbers, trampers and casual strollers into the beautifully forbidding bush, always onwards, ever deeper.



I think at the summit lies a pure Heaven. It must be an epiphanistic moment to stand at the top of your world and look down on such as you have left behind.


My mother climbed Egmont in the late 1940's. She told me what it was like to climb, but she never told me how it felt to achieve. I wish I had been mature enough to ask. Of course, once you reach the pinnacle there's nowhere left to go but down.

You see, I don't know where I'm going and I don't know what I hope to achieve - but I do know that achieving nothing IS nothing and is a boring road, indeed. I find it all incredibly pointless, you know?

Just as some pieces of art talk to me, so too do some pieces music and some pieces of poetry. This is one of those pieces. To me, it says, "I don't have to take the same path as everyone else, I'm just going to see a lot of different things to them". And I am.

What does it say to you?

The Road Not Taken

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 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 - 1916