Tag Archives: regret

F for Effort

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“Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.”  ―Thomas Edison

It’s more comfortable to gather your chips and walk away from the table than to risk everything, especially when everything is at stake.

But those are the moments that test our resolve and willingness to step to the precipice of ruination, armed only with a gut instinct to stay in the box, waiting for that one last swing. 

Maybe we make contact. Maybe we don’t. But both results carve two very distinct paths. How we navigate the walk is more important than the shape of the route that was forced upon us.

It’s easy to get lost in the twists and turns and missteps and regrets and hindsight and remorse and blunders and miscalculations. But the gate is closed behind us, so the only option is to move forward.

That might mean celebrating success or revisiting the drawing board. But there is no time or room for stagnation, and the clock isn’t waiting for us to reach a definitive conclusion before our feet get going.

Perspective is something much more easily seen in the rearview mirror, so it’s not always simple to plot a plan in the present moment. But the only way to avoid failure is to continue rolling the dice and hoping for favorable combinations. 

What we do to manage the reality of the results after all the bets have been placed says more about our character and resolve than any ephemeral “luck” doled out by the universe.    

Each day is an opportunity for improvement, regardless of the possible obstacles. Some steps might need to be taken more gently than others, but the pivotal moment comes when you decide to lift that heel and begin.

Adolescence Interrupted

The Beauty of Black and White

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Those slippery, spiky spaces between the protective pillars of definitive views and steadfast opinions have always been frozen front steps without the salt, bumperless bowling lanes, and unmanned manholes. Like recklessly careening around a roller rink free of sidewalls, the notion of warmly welcoming “floating maybes” has routinely felt equally bizarre and dangerous.

Yes or no. Right or wrong. A or B. Greater good. There is no gray. There is no doubt. Stack the facts, introduce the variables, and make the calculation. Why waiver? Why wonder?

Although we arguably have little control over our individual brain circuitry, I am immensely grateful for this robotic programming. Blowing in the breeze of endless conjecture can be a time-sucking, fruitless endeavor. Scratching at stone walls, feeling stuck in a bottomless chasm of emotional self-flagellation, endlessly weighing potential outcomes, and ceaselessly questioning past choices only help to construct locked cages around a torture chamber of regret. It seems like most of that discouragement and frustration could be avoided by simply picking a path and getting those figurative feet walking.

That is not to say there is a dearth of creative currency in collaboration, brainstorming, or the sharing of ideas. I think there’s a unique vitality to the energy produced in a room full of spinning frontal cortices. But much of life is lived outside of those spaces, and a quickdraw ability to choose among the proposed options without protracted rumination could help keep society’s trains running more swiftly on the rails.

Look at the presented choices. Listen to your gut. Decide.

The time and toil saved from avoiding another trudge through the mental mud pit will pay dividends down the road.

Adolescence Interrupted

A Chapter Closes

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Two weeks ago, I lost my last biological grandparent. Defying all rational convention about some hardwired human acceptance of the inevitability of life’s ultimate conclusion, I found myself at odds with the abrupt presentation of this unmistakable new reality.

On a loop or in a wheel, we are only granted so many spins. It should be no surprise that someone who has lived a long, full existence will eventually read the words on that final page. But reaching the coda does not always arrive free of regrets. There are some who scrape and scratch and claw in the desperate hope for one more second to say what’s been hiding, dormant, during each previous solar lap. With the chronometric click of a stopwatch marking that last finish line cross, there are many who will suffer under the weight of internalized regret.

Any finale free of an encore is a bitter pill to swallow and a harsh concept to stomach, regardless of the strength of your constitution.

But there are a rare few who can float above that burden to find the gift of a truly peaceful passing. Leaving this terrestrial plane with the satisfaction felt from completing a comprehensively explored journey is not simply uncommon. It’s downright remarkable.

The only matriarch I had the opportunity to know, my paternal grandmother was a queen in her castle, surrounded by a ceaselessly devoted and doting “royal household.” She was a ringmaster and supervisor, discreetly directing the proceedings with a simple glance or folding of the hands. A subtle conductor, she left little doubt about what she thought or felt. But everything was wrapped in a warm, inviting embrace behind kind, wise eyes that seemed to see the soul.

The finality that follows death is not something I have ever been able to fully process, and there is always this nagging notion that something was waiting…undone, unsaid, or unanswered. But I can take some comfort in the fact that this one human being lived her life to its greatest potential and left nothing sitting on lists. No buckets. No wishes.

Still, there is a tangible vacuum created when a wheel is suddenly absent from its hub, and every earthquake sends out shocks from its center.

We are all still rattling.

Adolescence Interrupted