Rainfall of Regret
As I sit on this very rainy day and listen to the sound of the water hitting the roof and rattling down the gutters, I find that whatever regrets I have (or have had) seem to be more easily recalled. That doesn't always happen on a rainy day, but something about the gray skies pulls out the melancholy - but it does not pull enough for a total extrication. Perhaps that comes from some subconscious unwillingness to completely let myself be rid of those feelings of regret.
That may be because many of my regrets come from the recognition of poor behavior on my part in the past. I find that in the midst of a thought, conversation, or walk between rooms or offices, that a flash of memory hits and I am back in high school, or a moment in college, or in some intangible age where I can hear or see myself acting poorly towards someone: making fun of them, saying something mean or mean-spirited, or not acting in a manner becoming of me. And as far back as some of these go, I find that the regret I feel for those moments remains painfully acute in that instant.
Perhaps the regret comes from the recognition that I didn't feel the regret then. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I cannot go back and change the past. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I have moments in my past that do not reflect well upon the person I strive to be today.
These moments pop up from time to time. Nothing horrible, nothing terrible. No murders, no high crimes. Just the day to day mismanagement of personal attitudes and actions that comes with being young. In some cases, I don't know that I could see the ramifications of my actions or words at the time. But as I age, I not only see them, I find that they stick in my soul like the sharp sting of a holly bush on the hand or a thistle to a bare foot.
Therefore it seems that regret is the necessary side effect of maturity and age. It is that regret that prompts me to not act so in the future. It is that regret that allows me the foresight to consider my actions and words. While it is an impossibility, the goal of learning from regret is to prevent its piling up for moments of sudden, melancholy insight in the future.
Perhaps maturity isn't just being able to live with others well, it is also learning to live with the child that was you.
That may be because many of my regrets come from the recognition of poor behavior on my part in the past. I find that in the midst of a thought, conversation, or walk between rooms or offices, that a flash of memory hits and I am back in high school, or a moment in college, or in some intangible age where I can hear or see myself acting poorly towards someone: making fun of them, saying something mean or mean-spirited, or not acting in a manner becoming of me. And as far back as some of these go, I find that the regret I feel for those moments remains painfully acute in that instant.
Perhaps the regret comes from the recognition that I didn't feel the regret then. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I cannot go back and change the past. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I have moments in my past that do not reflect well upon the person I strive to be today.
These moments pop up from time to time. Nothing horrible, nothing terrible. No murders, no high crimes. Just the day to day mismanagement of personal attitudes and actions that comes with being young. In some cases, I don't know that I could see the ramifications of my actions or words at the time. But as I age, I not only see them, I find that they stick in my soul like the sharp sting of a holly bush on the hand or a thistle to a bare foot.
Therefore it seems that regret is the necessary side effect of maturity and age. It is that regret that prompts me to not act so in the future. It is that regret that allows me the foresight to consider my actions and words. While it is an impossibility, the goal of learning from regret is to prevent its piling up for moments of sudden, melancholy insight in the future.
Perhaps maturity isn't just being able to live with others well, it is also learning to live with the child that was you.
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