Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

I’m not quite sure when it kicked in.  Can’t quite put a finger on how exactly the stars were aligned when I woke up.  But I did.  It finally happened.

I dropped regret.  Completely.  Well, almost completely.

Regret is like worry.  It’s actually a stronger poison than worry.  Because it’s about the past.  Something you de facto cannot change.  While worry is also a waste of time, at least it’s about the present or the future; something our limited human minds manages to reason it has dominion over.

But regret?  Well, that’s just sad.  A spinning of wheels.

And it doesn’t matter what the regret is.  How big it seems.  How sad it feels.  Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Regret tampers with the tapestry of our lives that is singularly ours; unique, flawed, interesting, colorful.  Regret is graffiti tagged on our life’s mural.  Whether I wish I would have made a different choice isn’t really part of the equation.  Rather, what has emerged from what feels like a wrong turn, an impulsive act, a bad decision, a costly intimate rejection?

Let’s face it.  Isn’t it possible that Plan B is more interesting, riveting, and worthy than Plan A could have been?  And if not, you can’t change the past, but you can certainly move forward with a freshly set intention of living life without regret.

When tendrils of regret start encroaching on my psychic garden, I prune them with thoughts of “insteads.”  With what have I been blessed instead?  By what have I been challenged instead?  

And the answer to both questions is, plenty.

Bottom line, hasn’t it all been so interesting?  Like following a firefly through the light and shadow of an enchanted forest.