Image by Kacper Lawiński from Pixabay
I
know that it will sound implausible, possibly even arrogant, but when
I consider my more than six decades of life, I find that I really don't
regret anything.
Have
I never done anything I was sorry for later? Of course I have. I've
hurt people's feelings. I have occasionally twisted the truth. I've
been sexually unfaithful (though I didn't lie about it afterward). I
have, perhaps, failed to give friends or lovers what they really
needed. I feel guilty about some of these errors. But I don't feel
regret.
As
I understand the term, to regret something means that you wish that
it hadn't happened—that you could take back your actions or
decisions and start over again. The implication of regret is that you
wish things had turned out differently. I don't feel that way. I'm
amazingly happy with the way my life has played itself out so far. I
can imagine different paths I might have taken, but I'm not at all
sure that these alternative lives would have been more rewarding or
satisfying. Most of my dreams have come true, in one way or another.
Meanwhile, my life has been filled with delicious surprises, bonuses
I never expected.
The
infidelity to which I refer above is as good an example as any. When
I was in grad school, I was involved in a committed relationship with
a fine young man whom I loved very much. I'll call him A. Our sex
life was fabulous, too—I learned a great deal from A about both
love and lust. Nevertheless, when A was away for a few days on
business, I had a one night stand with our housemate (whom I'll call
B). I blamed it on loneliness, hormones, and the fact that B had been
flirting with me for weeks, but I suppose that these are all excuses.
I chose to have sex with B; there's no two ways about it.
I
confessed my indiscretion to A when he returned. He told me he
forgave me, but ultimately my action destroyed our relationship. It
was very painful for everyone concerned (except B, who acted like a
real dork).
I'm
sorry to have caused A sorrow. However, I don't regret the incident,
because it led, indirectly, to my relationship with the man I call my
master (here denoted as C). I knew C at the time, but I would never
have connected emotionally and sexually with him if I had still been
coupled with A. I would never have experienced the epiphanies of
which I've written in other blog posts. And it's very likely I would
never have started writing and publishing erotica.
Looked
at in this light, if I hadn't cheated on my boyfriend, Lisabet Sarai
wouldn't exist. So how can I regret that action, as sordid and
embarrassing as it seems now?
The
one serious area where I might harbor regrets is in regard to my
relationship with C. Although we were close, I really didn't
understand what he wanted and needed. I believed, incorrectly, that
he didn't care about me the way I did about him. I do sometimes
wonder what my life would have been like if we had stayed together—if
he had asked me to marry him, for instance. Instead, he allowed me to
drift away into the arms of my future husband (D), too shy and
insecure to assert a claim on me despite his dominance.
Sometimes
C and I rehash those issues in our emails. The lure of what might
have been can be incredibly powerful.
Still,
if I'd stayed with C, I would not have met and married D. I would not
have enjoyed almost forty years of his excellent company. I might
not have a career I loved as much as I do my present work; D was a
significant influence in guiding my professional decisions. I might
not have traveled the world the way I have. Certainly it's unlikely
that I would have had the fascinating and fulfilling experience of
living overseas.
So
as much as I might fantasize about life with C, how can I regret my
choices?
I
know some people who are consumed by regret. Guilt, anger and sorrow
about past actions and choices eat away at their peace of mind. I
feel sad when I see how they torture themselves. Perhaps their lives
have not turned out as well as mine. On the other hand, perhaps some
of their dissatisfaction comes from perception and their
preoccupation with the past—supposedly lost chances and wrong
choices.
The
fact of the matter is that regret is fruitless. You cannot change the
past, no matter how much you think you might like to do so.
Furthermore, you can't be sure that the results would have made you
happier, if you had done things differently, the way you imagine.
Don't
look back. The past is gone. The future is unknown. All we have is
the present. Why waste it by obsessing about what might have been?
I'd rather appreciate what I can today, and hope for even better
things tomorrow.
