One shot is all you get.
No day can be relived. No moment can be reclaimed.
Regret and remorse are not a possibility, but a certainty. We are only human, after all.
I wonder what kind of regret it is easier to live with.
Regret that I did something, like a stupid choice, or a wrong decision. Regret that I went there and chose to say that, to release words of harshness, crudeness. Once I heard their icy hatred in the air, I knew I could never take them back.
That I formed a judgment against that person, without knowing their situation. That I treated them with the contempt and impatience of someone superior, clearly communicating that my estimation of my own value was far greater than theirs.
That I kept talking when I should have listened to her, because she was keeping it all inside. Or that I leapt when I should have paused, ignoring the voices in my head that told me to be still.
Or could it be that I will regret inaction. The times I didn’t pick up the phone and call. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so lonely if I had.
The questions I never thought to ask. I wonder what stories of my family’s past are lost forever, because they didn’t think I was interested in knowing.
The time I sat there motionless, observing the grief of loss. Even though I did not have the right words, nothing was the worst thing I could have done.
When I did not put anything in the offering plate as it passed. When I did not tip the waitress as much as she deserved. When I did not express my appreciation for what was given me, my respect for those who led me, my adoration beyond belief for those who think I am worth their investment.
One more “I love you” wouldn’t have been that hard to give.
Any kind of regret is difficult. But perhaps at the end of my life, I would prefer to know that I tried and failed, and crashed and burned.
Instead of sitting and waiting.
