I have no regrets in life; But how can I be sure That I’m being truthful To myself? If I’m not being honest, Then I’m lying And I regret it. But what if I am lying again? Then it would be another And I’m afraid I can’t stop now.
Regrets belong to the weak and redundant; I used to think that. Then one night, before going to sleep, as habit has it, I was listening to a podcast with George Saunders as a guest, and he said what’s the one thing all of us adults carry with us?
Regrets.
And that broke an enduring resistance in my brain—words from those you respect have that effect. Perhaps my life isn’t as regretless as I have made myself believe.
Not five seconds passed before I stumbled upon a memory that never ceases to sting whenever summoned.
It was not a romantic partner of times past, a professional failure, or things I thought people considered regretworthy.
It was a failure of kindness. Years ago, I was unnecessarily rude and distant to a girl who asked me for a lighter, and as kind and warm as she was to me as a stranger, I was brutish and obnoxious. She even complimented me on the color of my eyes before giving me back the lighter and I only nodded and looked away.
Why did I behave like that? I must have had my reasons. It was a hot day, I was waiting for friends, or something else. None of them justify that behavior, and I truly regret it. I wish I could see her again and apologize, even though she most likely wouldn't remember; or at least I hope she wouldn’t.
Regrets do have the ability to change us for the better; I realize that now. The past is a strict pedagogue, but one wherein lie the keys to our development and progress. It only begins with self-directed candor, admittance, and an acceptance of our folly as humans.
Regrets