It’s easy to say I’d do something different “knowing what I know now.” But I make choices with the information I have. This is my life to own; regret is futile. Choose to live.
Being paralyzed and doing nothing is worse than regret. Sylvia Plath writes in “The Bell Jar,” when I don’t choose, I starve and watch my options wither and die.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.
“One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and the pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.
“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” – The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Every decision, each choice – no matter how big or small creates my life. When I look around how can I regret any of it? How do I know which choice if not made, would take away what I love?
A life not chosen is lived somewhere else in the multiverse. Let her/him enjoy those figs.
“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, “It might have been.”
― Kurt Vonnegut
Speaking up, dissenting; taking a stand – not my ambition as a youngster. My objective then, like many girls of my generation was to be liked, to fit in; be popular. Regrettably for that youthful goal, my edges were a bit too frayed and my opinions decidedly peculiar – finding me channeling the rebel; mouthy and belligerent.
My feminist inclinations clashed with the world I was born to. I chafed at the roles available to me; finding them limited and restricting. But to fit in – I shoved my square self into those round holes; carving off bits and pieces of myself. Still, my 24 YO self was compelled to whack a guy over the head with a menu when he challenged my opinion that the Equal Rights Amendment should have passed. His argument? I couldn’t quote the damn thing.
Many odd and questionable adventures resulted from my vow to not be “that” old lady rocking on her porch regretting missed opportunities.
Tuesday I adopted a new puppy – my first little boy. Two months ago it was just a spontaneous; okay – impulsive email about cute schnauzer pups. Now I’m telling my friend Margaret that being home all day is helping me teach him the best places to potty – outside! She responds: “a stay-at-home mom” – Hilarious; me, who never had or raised a kid. Was that all choice? Nah, just circumstance associated with lots of choices. Now my maternal instincts, what there are of them, are channeled to furry critters.