I’ll always remember a certain piece of advice my mom gave me years and years ago:

You’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the things you did. 

I’m not sure I really understood it at first. I was, at the time, young enough to be focused on all the things I hated about myself. (I’ve since grown older and wiser.) I did something embarrassing at school and regretted it. I didn’t study hard enough for that math test and regretted it (even though I certainly didn’t want a do-over). All those things I thought meant something.

As I got older I started to realize what my mom meant. All those things contribute to a life and are part of what make me who I am (do not ask me to do math, I beseech you). But I’ve long since learned they aren’t what’s important.

What’s important is what we choose to do – deliberately and with purpose, no matter how hard it may be. And in thinking about the things I might not do because I’m scared, I came to understand what my mom meant about regretting the things you don’t do more than the things you do. I thought it was brilliant and therefore so was she.

When I look back, there are many things that were hard or embarrassing or just plain awful, but I don’t actually regret any of them.

I don’t regret my weeks of being homesick at the beginning of a four-month exchange I went on to Germany when I was 15. It taught me that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for.

I don’t regret choosing a university closer to home instead of a more adventurous-sounding one across the country. That choice led me to my husband and the family I have now.

I don’t regret sticking with a job I initially hated. It gave me some really good experience and a foundation for what I want in my work.

Sometimes I wish I had tried harder to get Connor to sleep when he was a baby, but I don’t actually know if it would have helped. In any case, wishing won’t make it so.

I don’t even regret my horrible experience with PPD. I don’t regret the agony or the anger, the misery, the number of doctors I saw without getting a diagnosis or even the horrible psychiatrist. I don’t regret having to take time off work or spending a few months on a bunch of different medications so I could get through each day, minute by minute. That experience has taught me about life, myself, what I value, and what I can do when I do what’s right.

I certainly don’t regret anything I’ve posted on this blog.

“Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves – regret for the past and fear of the future.”
~ Fulton Oursler 

And now I’m about to enter a new phase. We’ve been discussing this move for a long time – years, actually, even if only in a hypothetical, wouldn’t-it-be-great-if kind of way. One of the reasons we didn’t do it before was fear. My fear. But I think it’s time to do it.

It’s nerve-wracking to have so much change all at once, especially after a period of instability. But I’m okay with that. I think the change will be a good thing, and now that we’ve bought a house and know where we’re going to be three weeks from now I’m getting totally excited.

But I’m still scared. I’m scared to be that far from my parents, even if it (hopefully) turns out to be temporary if they move as well. I’m worried about having made a decision that will mean Connor won’t see his grandparents regularly, and that they won’t see him.

That’s the part that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Not the move, not the job, not leaving everything else that has been my world for so long. It’s my parents – their support and their time with my son. But I think we have to do it. I think it’s the right thing to do. So I’ll accept the fear in place of regret. The two thieves – I’ll avoid one by embracing the other.

And live with no regrets.

 

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