I once wanted to be a CNN news reporter. I was twelve. I remember standing in the apartment we lived in and watching a female news reporter in some Middle Eastern country. It was the middle of the summer. I was waiting for my brother (a baby) to wake up so I could get him before he woke my mom up from her sleep (she worked graveyard). It was warm already, the sun coming through the drawn blinds, but I did not notice the light or the summer day outside, I was riveted by the woman on the screen and that rush of feeling, of knowing that she was who I wanted to be when I grew up.
I am not a CNN news reporter.
I wanted to be an educational researcher for Sesame Street. I wanted to help craft educational programs and puppets that would introduce children to the wonders of readings, and laughing, and using their imagination. I wanted to help children learn.
I do not work for Sesame Street.
I wanted to be a literature professor. I wanted to introduce individuals to the wonder, complexity, and importance of literature. I wanted to show people that literature is one of our most powerful tools as human beings to understand, comprehend, and communicate with one another.
I am not a literature professor.
There are other careers that I could highlight here, but I think you, my dear readers, get the point.
As I sit here this morning in my bathrobe waiting for my son to wake up so I can get him ready for school, I think about all those dreams that I have had through the years. These dreams have not turned to reality.
There are a lot of different reasons. I was not focused enough. I was not driven enough. I was not willing to make the necessary sacrifices. I take the full blame for these dreams burning into ash and drifting away on that breeze of time.
But sometimes I wonder what the bloody f*cking hell is wrong with me.
Like this morning.
Why did I stand in my own way? Why did I not make those necessary decisions?
Why did I not just do it!!?
I know a lot of us have similar feelings. Hell, most everyone I know regrets something in their past, but I used to not be like that… the regret thing. Lately though, it has been like a damn monkey on my back. Regret. Regret. Regret. Drilling into my head. There is absolutely nothing I can do about what I did and did not do, but I keep coming back to this idea of history being a teacher for the future.
What can I learn?
Dear readers, what are your thoughts on this?
Do you deal in regret? Do you refuse to deal in regret?
How does regret, disappointment,
self-hatred play into how you make decisions in the future?
Let me know.
Healing to you today, lovelies. Though the sun is shining through the blinds this summer morning, the gloom is heavy and secure on my shoulders.
Eeyore you all, Eeyore.
Rain clouds, indeed.