On Regret

A couple weeks ago I had a stretch where I was pretty down, sad, anxious. Life was just doing what it does. I noted that being in between novels didn’t help but I didn’t have anything in mind to read. So I scanned my bookshelf and a book popped out that I felt like I hadn’t seen before, surely I had but only in passing while unpacking or looking for something else. I no idea where it came from. I didn’t bother reading the jacket, just saw “NYT Bestseller” and figured “Sure, whatever.”

Well in the first 38 pages, I come to find this story is about a girl who kills herself, doesn’t die, and ends up in a library of books, all containing the infinite possibilities what her life could have been. LOL. Imagine the goosebumps of affirmation I got (if you’re thinking, ‘What? Why?’ listen here). But first, before exploring what could have been, she's given her Book of Regrets. This is exactly what it sounds like. 

Naturally, it had me thinking about mine. I used to say I didn’t have any regrets, from the whole “everything happens for a reason” point of view. But then, good therapy and plant medicine clearly demonstrated this was just spiritual bypassing . Cause while I believe it’s true and that it's all perfect…down here in my human body, I definitely have regrets.

But, I can’t do anything to change the past (though EMDR surely helps making peace with it). So then I started thinking about now; what I would say I regret about now… later.

Fortunately, the answer was “not much.” But definitely definitely definitely, with resounding clarity, I knew I would regret not writing, and not painting. Regularly. Daily. There isn’t much reason behind either, but it’s what feels the most honest to the question. I’ve known it’s what I ought to be doing for years now, and not at all for a lack of time, I consistently avoid it. 

But because I’d like to have a short book of regrets when the time comes, I am here. Writing this morning about painting last night.

Of note, while writing indirectly pertains to my career, painting does not. There is nothing “to gain” other than that I get to paint, to create. And even when it’s excruciating, I love it. And most importantly, it just feels like the thing I am supposed to be doing.

Because I know if I weren't, I’d regret it later.