There's a case to be made, from things like Google search figures, that Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken - you know, the one about two paths diverging   in a wood - is the most popular in modern history. Yet people still can't agree what it means. On the surface, it's a fridge-magnet cliche   on the importance of taking risks and choosing the road less travelled. But many argue it slyly mocks   that American belief in the individual's power to determine his or her future. After all, the poet admits that both paths look roughly similarly well-travelled. And how could he be sure he took the right one? He'll never know where the other leads. Looking back at our life histories, we tell ourselves we faced important dilemmas and chose wisely. But maybe only because it's too awful to admit we're stumbling   mapless among the trees, or that our choices don't make much difference. Two psychologists, Karalyn Enz and Jennifer Talarico, throw light on these matters in a new study with a title that nods to Frost: Forks In The Road. They sought to clarify how people think about "turning points" versus "transitions" in life. A turning point, by their definition, is a moment that changes your future - deciding to leave a job or marriage, say - but often isn't visible from the outside, at least at first. "Transitions" involve big external changes: going to university, marrying, emigrating  . Sometimes the two go together, as when you move to a new place and realize it's where you belong. ("New Yorkers are born all over the country," Delia Ephron said, "and then they come to New York and it hits them: oh, that's who I am.") But it's turning points we remember as most significant, Enz and Talarico conclude, whether or not they also involve transitions. The distinction is useful: it underlines how the most outwardly obvious life changes aren't always those with the biggest impact. Hence the famous "focusing illusion", which describes how we exaggerate   the importance of a single factor on happiness: you switch jobs, or spouses, only to discover you brought the same troublesome old you to the new situation. Before it became a joke, "midlife crisis" referred to a turning point that happens because your circumstances don't change, when your old life stops feeling meaningful. Turning points can be caused by mundane   things - the offhand remark that makes you realize you're in the wrong life - or by nothing at all. What can we infer from this passage?
Turning points involving transitions are often remembered as most significant. The biggest impact is often characterized with obvious outside changes. A fundamental change is often affected by more than one single factor. We can rid ourselves of the unpleasant past with the change of a job.
Question: There's a case to be made, from things like Google search figures, that Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken - you know, the one about two paths diverging   in a wood - is the most popular in modern history. Yet people still can't agree what it means. On the surface, it's a fridge-magnet cliche   on the importance of taking risks and choosing the road less travelled. But many argue it slyly mocks   that American belief in the individual's power to determine his or her future. After all, the poet admits that both paths look roughly similarly well-travelled. And how could he be sure he took the right one? He'll never know where the other leads. Looking back at our life histories, we tell ourselves we faced important dilemmas and chose wisely. But maybe only because it's too awful to admit we're stumbling   mapless among the trees, or that our choices don't make much difference. Two psychologists, Karalyn Enz and Jennifer Talarico, throw light on these matters in a new study with a title that nods to Frost: Forks In The Road. They sought to clarify how people think about "turning points" versus "transitions" in life. A turning point, by their definition, is a moment that changes your future - deciding to leave a job or marriage, say - but often isn't visible from the outside, at least at first. "Transitions" involve big external changes: going to university, marrying, emigrating  . Sometimes the two go together, as when you move to a new place and realize it's where you belong. ("New Yorkers are born all over the country," Delia Ephron said, "and then they come to New York and it hits them: oh, that's who I am.") But it's turning points we remember as most significant, Enz and Talarico conclude, whether or not they also involve transitions. The distinction is useful: it underlines how the most outwardly obvious life changes aren't always those with the biggest impact. Hence the famous "focusing illusion", which describes how we exaggerate   the importance of a single factor on happiness: you switch jobs, or spouses, only to discover you brought the same troublesome old you to the new situation. Before it became a joke, "midlife crisis" referred to a turning point that happens because your circumstances don't change, when your old life stops feeling meaningful. Turning points can be caused by mundane   things - the offhand remark that makes you realize you're in the wrong life - or by nothing at all. What can we infer from this passage?
A. Turning points involving transitions are often remembered as most significant.
B. The biggest impact is often characterized with obvious outside changes.
C. A fundamental change is often affected by more than one single factor.
D. We can rid ourselves of the unpleasant past with the change of a job.
Answer: