Regret.

If I Had My Life to Live Over

I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
I'd relax. I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been this trip.
I would take fewer things seriously.
I would take more chances.
I would take more trips.
I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers.
I would eat more ice cream and less beans.

I would perhaps have more actual troubles but I'd
have fewer imaginary ones.

You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly
and sanely hour after hour, day after day.

Oh, I've had my moments and if I had it to do over
again, I'd have more of them. In fact,
I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments.

One after another, instead of living so many
years ahead of each day.

I've been one of those people who never go anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat
and a parachute.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot
earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall.

If I had it to do again, I would travel lighter next time.
I would go to more dances.
I would ride more merry-go-rounds.
I would pick more daisies.

By Nadine Stair (age 85)

The first time I read this I was 17.  I worked in the high school office for half a day my senior year.  One of the secretaries had it on a plain piece of copy paper, the letters were faded and the edges folded, it was on a cork board with a flat thumb tack.   Once she saw me reading it, I read it often. . .as I went about my work.  It was my job to address the notices to the parents of children who had gotten written up.  The type writer, yes I said type writer, that I used was near her office.  I can't remember the ladies name, Mrs.  something that begins with an H, her husband was a math teacher I liked. She said something to the effect of "I think it is really great you are thinking about this at such a young age."  I don't think she knew how old I was inside, what I had been through. How old I felt and how hard I was fighting against that old feeling, that was simply part of who I was.

A couple of years later, it was Christmas time, I was in a very familiar place with a lady that I really respected.  I had a glass of wine, I wasn't yet 21, that sticks out in my mind.  It was warm there and dark and I was comfortable.  I talked about not wanting to live my life with regrets.  She was skeptical.  I don't remember the conversation exactly.  Her response was something to the effect of - everyone makes mistakes and you are not perfect - a message that my 19 year old self probably needed reminding of yet, still, balked at.

These two conversations, this poem, and careful analyzing of my life (something I am incapable of not doing) have stuck with me through the years.  Two words jump out at me:

Mistakes

and

Regrets

Now, at 2 days past my 35th birthday. . .in all my unending wisdom and experience.  ha.  I am beginning to see what it means to not live regretful for my mistakes.  I live with the consequences of my mistakes.  I attempt to live with an attitude of accepting my need for forgiveness - constant unending need, from God and people.  Living with regret though - is not living - it is being stuck in the mucky bog of bitterness.  It is the blame game, it is dying from the inside out.

It is lack of faith - in God and people.

Ultimately, I realize - I can not redo.

I can't go back and pick daisies of forgiveness when I was picking the wilting flowers of long held grudges.

I can't remember things I should have remembered and forgot.

I can't take back the words that were not heard the way they were intended, the the ones that were and shouldn't have ever been said.

I can't not have relationships that I wish had never been had. . .and for some of them I am glad I can't.

I can't regret not being what others have thought I should be -

If I am to claim a regret it would be in the trying to.

All I can do is live today, not holding on to all those times I chose to grip that which would kill me.

I can open my hand to the giving and receiving of  forgiveness, care, respect and even potential hurts.

. . .withoutfear. . .