LJI Prompt: Regrets. To Do, or Not to Do, That is the Question
To Do, or Not to Do, That is the Question
They say when a dying person realizes their existence is slipping inexorably away, they often express their Life’s profound regrets. Cheerfully we are told that they never say they wished they had spent more time in the office, but rather that they wished they had attended more of their beloved children’s soccer games or ballet recitals.
Just this morning I alerted my husband that I should just spend three weeks getting my house clean and then pull my own plug so that once I’m gone no one will see the disastrous clutter that my house presents. Obviously, I haven’t learned from other people’s experience.
What do I not regret? Oh, that’s easy. I have done a stellar, yea, Nobel Prize-winning effort at raising three wonderful sons. Brilliant? Check. Good-hearted? Check.
Do they have foibles? Well, some, but I love them to death anyway. Every one of us has days when we aren’t going to win the Miss Congeniality award. Don’t get me wrong! They are a pleasure to be around. But there is the occasional youthful miscalculation or overly- emotional rant here and there. I compensate by leaving the ranter to instead go hang out with the fiscally precarious one who is a mellow joy to talk with. Then return to the more economically stable ranter to escape the nerves I generate after hearing about precipice-perching economics.
Into the Winning-at-Life category I would also put my choice of husband who always used to rave to our young boys when I cooked fish and would read novels to them every night. But, alas, he leaves his expired socks languishing around on the floor everywhere. Whenever he tells me I look beautiful, I simply reply, “I’m glad you are blind.” All of which, (except the socks thing,) proves I got lucky in the family lottery and there are no regrets in that department.
So, in the major compartments of life, it appears I am living the Dream. It is in the minor details that we stew and suffer our regrets.
Why oh why did I not keep better track of the Livejournal idol deadline so that, on that all-important day, I could launch to my faithful sidekick my friendly reminder to vote? Year after year he faithfully votes for me but, in this particular, critical vote, he goes AWOL. Let’s just hope he regrets that more than I do. (Note to others: it’s his fault. No blame. Just the facts.) As I said, minor details. Maybe I’ll cut him a smaller slice of cake.
I have a theory. Everybody needs something to worry about. The world leaders have to concern themselves with enemy aggression, famine, and the threat of nuclear catastrophe. My mother, in her advancing years, once lamented to me how she had brought someone spaghetti sauce that was too thin. Such woe! So, it behooves us to try to keep our concerns in perspective. Perhaps the more minor your problems are--that you stress about anyway--the better your life is.
Looking on the bright side, I realize that constantly wishing I were doing a better job at decluttering means I never have a day wondering what to do. There is always that eternal: getting the house in order.
It’s just that I have my priorities. There are a whole lotta things that are more fun than vacuuming or doing the dishes for the ninety-nine billionth time. I think I’ll go out for a hike. Or play my guitar. Or yak with my friend.
Or admire my fruit trees or sew an outfit for my granddaughter. Or scratch my loyal collie under his chin or wade in a babbling stream and look for polliwogs.
Or make that decadent cake and eat it. Kris, you get the skinny slice.
No regrets!