This morning I started thinking about what I regret. Turns out that it’s not the big decisions that I regret–I’m OK with those. It’s the smaller things that keep coming back to me, years later. Three stories:
Once when my children were quite small, I got a puppy for them–a little black and white butterball of fur. But they didn’t want a puppy. My older son, Kash, said he would rather have a goldfish, and when I asked why, he said that he wouldn’t have to take a goldfish for a walk. Good point. Madison, the younger son, just doesn’t like animals. It appeared that I wanted the puppy for myself–but with the boys’ negative feelings, I decided that I should give the puppy away. I put an ad in the classified section of the paper: “Adorable puppy–free to a good home.” Someone called right away, and I took the puppy over to the address they gave. It turns out that the home was cluttered, the children had on clothes that were ragged or ill-fitting, the yard was full of debris. There were a couple of other dogs in the home, looking not so well fed. I hesitated. As I remember, I felt it would be terribly impolite to refuse them the puppy. They would know that I thought they were not worthy. And who was I to say that this family couldn’t care for the dog, just because they were poor, I reasoned. I left the dog with them. Regret #1.
It was Christmas season sometime in the early 1970′s, and my husband and I and our two toddlers had recently moved into a Victorian home in downtown Lexington, Kentucky. One of the neighbors was having a fancy holiday party, and we were invited. My husband stayed home with the children, and I crossed the street to the lights and talk and music. No sooner than I had arrived than a woman approached me and said, “My husband would like you to come and talk with him.” And then she guided me over to where John Jacob Niles, the famous folk singer and ballad collector, was sitting. “He likes to talk to pretty young women,” she said. So I sat with John Jacob Niles, and he regaled me with stories that evening, and what a delight it was! I confessed that I had never heard him sing, but I want to very much. He then offered, “Get a few friends together in your home, and I’ll come and sing for you.” I know he meant it. But I thought, “Who am I, to ask this great man to come to my home and sing?” So I never asked him. One day a year or so later, I opened the morning paper to the headline: JOHN JACOB NILES DEAD. Regret #2
I had been dating a man for six years, and then broke off the relationship. We remained friends, but I was determined to move on. I had met a new fellow that I was interested in, and we had made plans for the weekend. But then I got a phone call from my former boyfriend, telling me that his father had died, and asking me to come to the funeral that weekend. He had been estranged from his father, a good man but an overly strict parent, and now my friend was full of sadness at this loss. He was in tears. He needed me. Wanting to make a clean break, I told him no, that I had other plans. Regret #3
What do these regrets have in common? These decisions all failed the “heart test.” In each case, my heart was telling me what was right–and what I really wanted to do. But I didn’t listen to my heart. Instead, I went to my rational mind for the answer, and the reasonable answer failed me. In each one of these decisions, I failed to exercise power that I had been given, to connect, to love, to care.
In all these cases, I was younger than I am now (of course!) But I need to remind myself that I have power, and that when I am given a chance to set the earth a little more on the side of love, I should never refuse that opportunity. And another thing to remember: when I’m confused about which way is right, I need go to a quiet space and ask my heart. I will not be led astray.
