regret

All images by Camille Pissarro circa 1800s.

I bristle at the word “regret”. It’s a bitter, hateful word. Self-flagellation for the imperfect soul. I understand the sentiment, it bubbles up in me too, but I refuse to tend and water it. I see it and grab on, turning it over, giving it a good sniff and look-over, but ultimately I let it go. I want other things living in my heart and regret steals the oxygen from all living things.

I know people whose whole worlds are infiltrated with regret. They regret every decision and are held captive and immobilized in making new ones, knowing their inward regret stores will just weigh heavier with the inevitable new addition to the sagging shelves. Regret after regret piled up like rusty cans, taking up space, blocking out the light. I’ve seen how that can sour a heart, become a way of life. In that way of being, there’s no opportunity for admiring our tenacity and trying to do the right thing even if the result was different than we had hoped.

In the inner workings of ‘us’, there’s only one space, one receptor open in the aftermath of a calamity or just a poor decision. There are two keys that fit into that space but they’re shaped exactly the same way. We can choose the key of regret or the one of gratitude. It’s up to us.

A long time ago I decided that I was not going to live with regret. It was exactly that - a decision. I understand that I still have feelings, they pop up all the time, but I’ve not been one to be governed by those feelings. They come, I consider them. I don’t see them as factual or truthful, they are just feelings made up of decades of other feelings and experiences, some good, some bad. They pop up indiscriminately and unpredictably depending on mood or what my hormones are up to, how much I’ve moved my body, or fed my soul. Regret is a feeling like any other.

Today, it feels almost disrespectful to regret a poor decision or behaviour because it directly relegates that lesson into something useless rather than understanding it, however painful, as a gift. That can be a hard muscle to build, but with consistency and awareness of my inclinations, I have built it and there’s a type of peaceful freedom here that I cherish.

Regret is just another one of those feelings that can become entrenched when we tend it rather than pluck it before it goes to seed. It’s something in this very moment that wastes the moment so that we can further regret wasting the moment. See how that works? We can only have one focus at a time. Using that moment to feed regret is a division from what we actually have the power to create. 

Someone recently asked me if I regretted something that had happened. I did bristle, I admit it. Mostly because I want to answer with these words, with talking about the bigger things around such a concept, but it wasn’t the time or the place. But I do recognise that people that ask such a question come from a place of living it. I have empathy for that. When I’m asked if I regret _________ (fill in the blank) I just want to grab that person and give them a big hug and tell them we’re all fatally flawed creatures and it’s okay. But I just end up mumbling something about “not believing in regret” and they look at me puzzled and that’s the end of that. 

But oh, the mistakes I have made! The things, the things, the things I could have done differently! Oh, yes, there are thousands, I’m sure. And not one of them would I change. Not one. Here I am living in this house with this man in this time. None of it is perfect. Every day there is a challenge and something to work through, but here I am. Alive. Imperfect. Aware and in love with it all. That all comes through grace. A grace bestowed through love. Love of the gift of here and now. An unconditional love for life. Can we put ourselves to that? Love through and from and to our Creator. We have been forgiven. Can we forgive ourselves?

I am a woman that speaks from the most unenviable of places. A mother whose job it is to raise a child, whole and thriving, and release them into the wilds of the world with all that they need to take it on. I did that with three daughters. Three daughters, each lovely and funny and soft and kind and tenacious and determined. And then…

What can be clearer of the absolute failure of a parent than a child who takes their own life? There is nothing. Nothing. And there in that gushing, bleeding chasm the seeds of every “what if”, all of the “if I had” and “why didn’t I” grow like tangled weeds. The canopy of those thriving, snarling feelings shades out all sun so that soon enough everything but the fruits of regret can grow. But a time came when I saw that there were other living things outside of that jungle, just on the periphery that could grow, too. Living, struggling things that were waiting for me to notice them. At first, all I could do was rip back a couple of leaves to allow a single, pencil-thin stream of sunlight to penetrate. But before I couldn’t even do that, I had to notice that there was sunlight that remained. A little warmth kissing the top of my head and me being there to receive it. Just a few seconds there - but it was enough.

When the howling ravages of regret threatened to swallow me whole, I allowed myself to receive one little drop, just a drop, of grace. I could have had more, God is generous with such things, but I couldn’t swallow it. It had to be true and it had to be absorbed. So that’s what I did. I received grace. When those wild vines wrapped around my legs and threatened to pull me under I allowed compassion for my imperfections to be touched by that golden healing light.

I choose through what I live. 

I choose to live through love in this life.

Regrets are the fill-in-the-blank answer to the dissatisfactions in our present lives. It’s a cheap and easy emotion but it’s totally ineffectual. The truth is that we can hold our deficiencies as allies and guides to bring us to places and into deeper relationships, unreachable in the smooth, calm seas of life. We need storms and wild winds to propel our sails into unknown bays and mysterious channels. Once we get there we can focus on the discomfort of the unfamiliar or embrace the adventure with faith in the divinity of a God that conspires in our favour. Hopefully, that’s “co-conspiring” because we’re right there, too.

No, I do not regret. Not a thing. I can’t because it’s too cruel a thing to do to myself and I will not bestow more pain on such a wounded heart. I can fantasize about lost moments, things I would love to re-do because I hurt others, ways I’ve acted or choices I’ve made, but I cannot waste a moment of this moment because it’s the only true chance I have at redemption. It’s taking the consequences of my poor decisions and righting them in the only real way I can. 

Regret is a lie. It’s a fantasy that holds us but never delivers peace. In that way, how is a life plagued by regret any different than other distractions people fill their lives with in an effort to not immerse themselves in the business of creating their lives right now? Here and now is where I can honour and serve the people I love. This is where I can remedy the ailments and shortcomings of my character. This is where I can love deeply, expressing my gratitude with actions. If I have failed, allow me to be one who has learned and grown from that failure and who can heal with that awareness.

We are here learning lessons. All the time and in every way. Regret is a lesson. If you’ve learned from the challenges and circumstances in your life and you have become a better, more compassionate, more engaged and loving person, you can only live with gratitude for having gone through what you have. Even if it’s heartbreaking. Even if it’s something you would have never chosen for yourself. What happened is gone and you’re here, deciding to live with a gracious heart as a changed, evolved human being because of it or you have made the decision to live in that tangled, sunless jungle. From moment to moment, we choose.