Regret & Loneliness

I regret, I regret

Thinking about one particular person I’ve known most of my life. This is someone with whom I’ve shared a full range of feelings and an exquisite number of amazing adventures; a brilliant person who has, at every opportunity, taken life by its literal and figurative horns.

He has an enthusiasm for life and the ability to mold events so that the outcomes appear almost mythic and the telling of those stories endures from one generation to the next.

As dear and close as this friend is to me, over the many decades we’ve known each other he seldom voiced an iota of insecurity, a hint of hesitance or a shadow of personal regret. Until two years ago.

Thinking about the two times he has commented, briefly, almost off-the-cuff, yet with deep sincerity, that he wished he had been more understanding of and kind to his father, who died 10 years ago at age 84. He begins with “I regret…” and in one or two sentences this son chastises himself, stopping his words before tears form.

Although fairly reticent in areas of the heart, I know the father took great pride in his son and his accomplishments.

Thinking about the many times when I was in the presence of this man and his father as they verbally sparred—the younger one driving home contentious points more often than the older. No name-calling, no physicality or fisticuffs—never that. It was ideas and concepts which were debated.

As an observer, it appeared to me the father enjoyed this type of repartee. He’d usually call a halt to the banter by sitting back, folding his arms, shaking his head and letting a small smile cross his face. He’d “connected” with his son in a way that felt comfortable for him.

My friend feels he could have been more loving toward his father, more understanding of the older man’s quirks and more forgiving of his social blunders. That may be true, although I have no doubt the old man knew his son loved him. And yes, maybe there could have been more times when each said to the other “I love you.”

Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often

when I loved, I did not say so.

                                               ~David Grayson

I, too, regret so many, many things I have done—or not done, said—or not said. 

Thinking about regret and why we humans have the ability to experience this painful emotion, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s an evolutionary necessity. By that I mean, most everyone does things they later regret, and for most of us, we learn—over and over again, we learn—and I like to think we are better people for the lessons brought about by the regret.

There’s no turning back life’s clock, there’s only moving forward and remembering the lessons we’ve learned and if we’re very lucky, we have the opportunity to apologize. If we can’t do that due to death or some other fracturing occurrence, we’re left with making good use of the lessons learned in our School of Life.  

Accept life, and you must accept regret. 

~Henri F. Amiel

Lonely and Ignored          

These two words, “lonely” and “ignored” kept circling through my mind last evening and were at the forefront of what kept me awake and restless all night long. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

Thinking about “lonely” and a time more than two decades past.

“I feel so lonely…” were the words a beloved young friend voiced in one of our infrequent phone conversations. Four words uttered to someone he trusted to understand the angst coursing through his body.

I wanted so much to say just the right thing, just the right words to bring him out of the dark doldrums he seemed to be in. My recollection is that we talked for less than 10 minutes and at the close of our conversation he thanked me for listening…and caring.  

In the end, I had no sage, life-altering words because I had not experienced “lonely”—I simply offered an open, non-judgmental heart.

Lonesome is very different. I’ve been lonesome; wishing for conversation and companionship of friends or family. These times are self-induced as I have the option of making contact, or not.

Thinking about where I am in my life; how I’ve never before used the word “lonely” to describe my own feelings.

Lonely is a feeling we can have in the most crowded room or at the most intimate dinner party.  Lonely crawls into bed with us even when we are fortunate enough to be sharing that bed with our lover; even when friends and family are ready and willing to listen and interact.

Thinking about the choices I’ve made and am free to make and how fortunate I am and … and… when did I open the door to “Lonely”?

“Lonely” has been doing her best to garner a spot on shoulders already sagging from decades of carrying around Ms. Guilt’s fat ass. Some shoulder-shrugging may be in order!

Thinking about kicking Ms. Lonely to the curb (I still have much to deal with regarding Ms. Guilt. In time, in time…).

To transform the emptiness of loneliness, to the fullness 

of aloneness. Ah, that is the secret of life.

~Sunita Khosla

Thinking about feeling ignored.

It’s happened before, of course—the being ignored part.  At times, that’s been in my favor. For example, when I’ve overstepped some previously unrecognized “boundary” and by ignoring my faux pas  the Universe has protected me from my own oafishness.

What’s new this time is the feeling of being ignored, the sense of being ignored, put aside; superfluous even when I attempt to be an involved part of the conversation and wish to be thought of as a welcome addition to a gathering; when my opinions aren’t given any acknowledgment,  much less credence. Also, this past week I’ve been feeling ignored as I waited on tenterhooks for a response from a loved one.

Thinking about whether I truly am being ignored… or am I simply focusing too much on self? Am I focusing on the day to day fluctuations in the lives of family and friends in a way that translates into something personal and visceral; something that essentially exposes my own frustrations, vulnerabilities and insecurities?

It's possible the reality of feeling lonely and often ignored or set aside is simply the next uncharted, unexpected path for me. 

No matter how we might wish otherwise, this aging business isn't necessarily graceful...but it certain is eye-opening!

The more sand that has escaped 

from the hourglass of our life,

the clearer we should see through it.

~Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527)