This is not a life without regret.

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Today I heard a writer being interviewed on the radio. He said that what makes his life perfect is his little family, that sharing stories around the dinner table are the moments of perfection in his life, of pure happiness. He also said he has no regrets. He listed all the things that could have been regrets for him had he not anticipated and corrected them before they had the chance to become tiny stones in his shoe to worry him forever. I googled “no regrets” and there are so many famous quotes, so many people who claim to have lived a life without regret. Imagine that.

I think that’s an interesting idea, living a life without regret. I understand the sentiment, or  at least the desire. Who wouldn’t want a life where nothing from the past ever popped up holding a question mark aloft like a birthday balloon?  No regrets. It’s a great anthemic sort of sentiment… a tune I could hum or a chorus I could holler with a crowd at a concert, but how real can it possibly be? In a life lived fully and imperfectly how can anyone truly get from one end of living to the other end without any collateral damage, with nothing you wish you could take back or do over?

If I run at life with my eyes and arms wide open, full of any sort of passion inside of me, how can I hope to regret nothing? I will hurt people, say things I wish I hadn’t, make decisions that were absolutely wrong when they seemed absolutely right. There will certainly be, at the end of my life, a long list of atonements I must make before any pearly gates will open.  So what does “no regrets” mean, besides being a really cool tattoo?

Does living without regret mean doing whatever you want and not taking responsibility? Does it mean filing for moral bankruptcy and walking away from debts of the heart or spirit? Is it a kind of YOLO for the enlightened ? I genuinely don’t understand it. Is it about self forgiveness, maybe? About acknowledging past errors or lapses and setting them down? I don’t know how to do that either. I have a nicely packed little basket full of “what I did, what I said, what I should have said, what I shouldn’t have imagined, what I should never have tried, who I should have been kinder to” and there’s no convenient place to put it down.  It isn’t the kind of load someone else can carry for a spell, and let me off the hook either. And yes, I’ve had it suggested to me by the no-regret campers, that “should” is a word best left along with the basket of regrets.

Perhaps the people who have no regrets have lived kinder lives than I have, or maybe they have managed to make peace already with the sins of their past selves. I have a soul unwilling to let go of those sins and in a way I am glad. I don’t dwell, I don’t mope or spend nights staring at the ceiling feeling dreadful, but I do carry that little basket. It’s a reminder to me of who I have been and who I wish to be. A reminder of where I have gone and where I hope not to go again.

I think we need to feel regret. I think regret informs our decisions, informs who we become and how we behave. It’s a guide through the dark and rocky patches, where the easy path seems so tempting. Regret is the burn that reminds you the stove is hot.

At the end of it all, I won’t be able to say I have nothing to regret and that’s okay with me. Instead I’ll keep working to make sure I have nothing NEW to regret… that’s all I think I can honestly hope to achieve.

Valentines….Meh

ImageValentines Day. Woot. Woot. I am the Scrooge of Valentines, I swear it. If there were a workhouse to send all those damned little cupids to I’d have their diapered little baby bottoms shipped off faster than you can say pass me a Hershey’s kiss.

Blackmail. It’s blackmail. You have no escape. if you’re married, or in a relationship, or you’re a parent, you’re hooped. You’d better love up… you’d better spread that chocolate joy around… a stuffy here, a sucky card & a heart shaped box there, a flower over that-a-way, some koochee koo over this-a-way.

Christmas is a holiday I can get behind. I know it’s commercialized, I know I’m being manipulated from about September 1 onward to buy, buy, bake,  cook, make, wrap, consume and stress, but at least it makes sense on an historical level to me. Valentines? Meh. Some old guy dying in a jail sends his gal a note and the people at Hallmark lose their sh*t.

I do it… I buy the sucky card, I buy the freakin’ chocolate, the little cutie stuffies for the kids, I decorate the table before dragging my butt to bed the night before, but seriously. Who am I kidding? I love them every day… I prove it by continuing to feed them. I only do this Valentines nonsense to ensure they are sufficiently manipulated and will thus provide adequate chocolate in return.

However, if somebody wants to prove they love me, they can indeed feel free to lavish any sort of gift upon me any day – February 14th need not be the only day of the year.

Ommmmm.