My One-hundred-and-ninth Post

When I was eight or nine, I asked my older sister to pick a poem that she thought represented me. I have no idea why. I think it was probably because I was learning about poetry and how it usually symbolizes something else. So I wanted a poem that characterized me. She chose a poem by Emily Dickinson, and I had her write it out for me in her "fancy" writing. In the past, whenever I was having a hard time, I would think about it and be comforted.

Recently the first line has been running over and over in my head. “How lonely is the little stone/That rambles in the road alone.” After a while of just hearing those words in my head, I started to actually think about them. Why had I never picked up on how disparaging this poem was? It was about a lonely little rock who doesn’t care about anything. So I looked up the whole poem so I could sit and stew about it for a while. But when I saw the actual words, I realized why I had never picked up on it before. I was remembering it wrong.

How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn’t care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

The stone isn’t lonely, it’s happy. The stone is happy because it doesn’t depend on other people or uncontrollable events in order to feel fulfilled. It adapts and is happy whatever the circumstances.

I wonder why I was remembering it wrong today, when I never have before. I like this poem a lot more now.