Sometimes M.Snowe considers our "choices" as just a clever name for unavoidable circumstances. Self-determination is a fact, but underneath the Self, who is pulling those Determinant strings? M.Snowe doesn't think she has the right or the ability to name it.
Going back home, moments of meditation often occur right at this juncture--the entryway to a well-known street, with two seeming choices. You can no longer go straight, but must turn. You must alter your path--it involves manuvuering, and composure--a steady hand, especially in icy weather. Sometimes, it might seem easier to sit at the edge of the road, and peer down each way, or perhaps turn back.
Anyone who knows the area will tell you that if you turn left, the street continues, with copious houses and a turnoff onto the main street through town. If you go right, you hit a dead end, and a few hidden driveways. M.Snowe realizes that while she always turns left, her choices end up pulling her inner reflections irrevocably to the right. (clarification: "right" has nothing to due with political leanings, for certain.) And she's not alone. Charging down the main street, pulling up to residential spaces--all our thoughts are ensnared by that dead end, and the hidden driveways that surely hold nothing more than a junkyard, nothing less than our captive imagination. But we have promises to keep. And miles to go before we sleep.