Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

I read the above poem for the first time when I was in the third grade. My teacher had an illustrated book of it; I remember because it has remained my favorite poem ever since. The narrator visits someplace so breathtaking, or maybe just calming, that he halts his journey and it takes him a moment to realize he must go on. 2020 was both different and similar to me. So much happened that was unexpected and unnerving that I froze in a place that I did not intend, and am only now feeling like I’m truly moving forward again.

The past year was sensory overload. Just looking at my blog posts you can see them stop midway through March of last year, when it seems most of the world came to a halt. Around the last week of that month, I was told I could work remotely for at least the foreseeable future (I ignorantly/stupidly imagined they meant a couple of weeks). My birthday was about a week away, so I thought I would head home to celebrate it with family while I could. When I left I could not have fathomed that my nine year stint in DC was coming to an end, and that I was not returning home for a few weeks; but instead, on a permanent bases (it’s difficult to even write the word permanent right now, it seems to have lost some of its meaning these past months).

At first, I tried to keep up with habits. I attempted to run and I wrote a birthday post that I never published here. Eventually there just became a sense of what’s the point? Many of my hobbies began to fall by the wayside. People started using the phrase new normal, which implied that things were not normal, and would most likely remain bleak for a while. By mid June I realized I was not returning to DC, at least not soon, and as much as I love my parents, living with them at thirty-two was not ideal. So I sold my condo in July; and in September, I closed on a new home in western NY. It’s funny to me because I just feel like nothing happened this past year, when normally, before the time of new normal, I would have found moving home to be a very significant development. Also, during the first few months of COVID, I self-published my first book, which in the past I imagine would have felt more like an achievement instead of just a way to pass the time.

There were major milestones in 2020. Moves, weddings, people passing you did not expect to pass. There were friendships that seemed to just ignite; friends that you don’t speak to everyday reconnecting as the world around us became more distressing. However, the year to me felt like groundhog day. Always another reason to pause, always another reason to worry. In the poem, the narrator halts to admire something: a scene that is natural and eternal. The thing that paused me this past year was not something to admire, I think the only word for it is fear. Fear comes in many forms and can be stronger at different times. It’s not surprising that a year that was so filled with isolation was also filled with that emotion. I have not yet heard a true definition of the new normal, but for me, I plan to start getting back to what I can control. That means running, reading, writing, getting outside, and doing just about anything to make the day feel less “groundhog-y” and more fun. Let’s enjoy all the miles between now and sleep!

Hope everyone is well and safe. Good luck with this new year ahead, and make it better for you and those around you!