Regret should be one of the deadly sins. Not because it keeps you from God, but because it keeps you from peace. Regret is a pocket full of stones…the more you collect, the harder it is to swim. Yet, it's so easy to feel regret, isn't it? We do things that we wish we hadn't. We hurt others. We make poor choices. Remorse comes after we've done something wrong. We avoid taking chances. Regret comes from NOT doing something we wish we would have. It's easy to get mired down wishing things would have happened differently. As my grandma used to say, wish in one hand and spit in the other. See which one fills up first. In other words…it's useless to fill our hearts and minds with regret.
I have retired from my position as "Chief Worry Wart". I got it honestly. It was a family trait, handed down from my sweet mom…the "Queen of All Things Worried". We used to accuse my mom of lying in bed at night worrying about things to worry about tomorrow. Obviously, there are situations in life that capture your concern. You have to think creatively how to resolve adversities sometimes. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about those nights you lay awake hour after hour ruminating on a situation you have absolutely no control over, hoping you can somehow affect a change if you think about it hard and long enough. Worry doesn't fix anything. It doesn't change the future…it just changes the present. It robs you of peace (and most likely, sleep) today.
You know those cool signs with the sayings painted on them that are so popular? I love those. I have three or four of them and I rotate them around the camper in my décor. One is a big sign with two words…Kindness Matters. I am a huge proponent of kindness. Kindness will change the world. If I slip and do something unkind, I die a thousand deaths till I can somehow make things right. I was raised to be generous and kind….but it has to be done anonymously. If you let someone know about it, it doesn't count. I love when I go through the drive through at Starbucks and the car in front has paid for my order. In turn, I will pay for the person behind me. I often wonder how far down the line it goes.
I went to coffee with the Class of '71 girls yesterday. Oh my gosh…we are such a hoot when we get together. We're all healthy, for the most part. We're grateful, we're funny, we're loving life. Spending time with the Warrior Queens…those Wild, Wonderful, Wacky WV Women…has been one of the highlights of my time spent in my homeland the last few months. They are more than friends…they are family. Women need girlfriends. I tell young women just starting out in a marriage…"Don't neglect your girlfriends. You're going to need them." Good advice.
January and February seem to last FOR-EV-ER. The rest of the year flies by, yet I swear January and February are three times longer than any of the other months. I need warmth. I need water. I need sun, sand, surf…something! Surely I was born for some reason other than to pay taxes, crawl through January and February and eventually die. The tedium of these days of thin light and a fat butt is about to drive me stir crazy. So, in my inimitably Pollyanna-esque fashion, I have to…yet again…redirect my focus from the small picture to the big, widescreen view of life.
I have written a post nearly every day for two years. I journal every day as well. I've written a 500+ page autobiography that's being edited. I write poetry and children's stories. I even co-authored a book for the National Institutes of Health. My first published work was in high school. Yet, I have only in the last year or so become confident in my writing and subsequently, my thinking. I owe a lot of that to you all and your amazing responses that you post here. You continually encourage me and I am very grateful to you.
I am blessed with a really great guy pal. We talk a ton on the phone and he's one of my best buds in the whole world. We talk about every subject under the sun and laugh till we're breathless. It's refreshing. And he knows me well. Very well. The last couple of nights we've had an interesting topic of conversation that kind of shocked me into seeing myself differently. We were talking about my interactions with people and I told him I am totally non-confrontational. He stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Now, wait a minute. I don't see you as non-confrontational at all. You have no trouble telling someone you are not pleased with something. You don't back down. What I see is this…you get knocked off balance when you are blind-sided by someone who attacks you verbally when it's unwarranted. That happens to everyone. It's the fight or flight response to adrenalin." Stunned silence on my end. And just like that, I saw the name tag I'd been writing for myself, dutifully sticking it to my lapel, and announcing to the world…"Hello! I am _". (Fill in the blank with the self-imposed description du jour!)
How many times can the heart be broken? Countless, countless times. How many times can it be healed? Well, if my record is any proof, I'd say every time. Some heartbreak takes longer to heal than others. Some leave everlasting scars. And always, heartbreak leaves change. Things are never the same as before that fateful event that broke you open.
As most of you know, I've been busy the last couple of weeks scanning old family photos, documents, and assorted ephemera onto an external hard drive. As I do this, I file each picture into a folder for the main subject…mostly by family. I started out with noble intentions…scanning each photo individually and labeling it with the names of the subjects. Then it got filed in the appropriate folder. I have three big plastic tubs of pictures. I quickly realized I'll still be sitting here in 2016 if I kept things going at that rate. So I started grouping 3, 6, 9 or more photos with the same people on one scanned document. I am saving them to the appropriate folder and I can go back at my leisure to label them. The originals are being divided in piles and will be sent to the people in the pictures. I am on my last box. This is a project that has been hanging over my head for at least the eleven years since my mom died. I'll be happy to have it done and behind me, but slogging through it isn't easy. You see, as it turns out, Memory Lane has a lot of potholes.
I know we aren't supposed to wish our lives away. We only have one so why can't it always be spent in the glorious days of Spring? I adore Spring. The promise of new life is much more apparent in March than it is when making New Year's resolutions in the darkness of late December. January is nearly over, thank you. February is at least shorter than the other months. And it has Valentine's Day, not that it holds special meaning anymore. But there's at least chocolate involved.
