regrets
No matter how much a person believes in all the self help platitudes such as "never look back, you aren't going that way"... and "live in the moment", relapses happen. Sometimes we retreat to the past and it is not always clear what sends us back. Sometimes it is just regrets. Someone said "Having regrets is like driving a car that only goes backwards".
Yesterday morning I was sitting in my chair, heating pad at my aching back, at about 6 am. I thought of my mom and got teary as I wished I could just give her a call and ask her a few things about people she knew, old relatives now gone, or some knitting question. I suddenly found myself back in the 1960's, sitting in what we called "the room by the stove" in the house I grew up in. It is a stormy, cold day and my brother, cute, white blond hair and still sober at that young age, my sister and I wait to hear if Jan Tucker announces that the schools are closed. We are hopeful, eating our toast and jam, using the ironing board as our table. My dad comes in with a big chunk of wood that he throws in the wood stove. The wood sizzles as the snow on it melts, and the room is warm and cozy. My dad puts his choppers and wool liners on top of the stove and the smell of wet wool almost takes over the smell of home made bread toasted - but not quite. My mom drinks her coffee and our family is warm around the wood stove in that house that seemed to sway in the strong winter winds. The snowbanks outside pretty much cover the big window in the room but that adds insulation to the old house that probably didn't have much if any.
I get a little sad each March, and it takes me a moment to figure out why. Someone once told me when you are feeling sad and you are not sure why, you should look at the calendar. Its so true. My mom died on March 10th and March is hard - at least the first part. My dad's birthday is also in March - on St. Patrick's day. He would have been 87. Usually I am running a yearly half marathon in Moab on his birthday and I think of him as I run.
Sometimes a person just has to sit down and take stock of all that they have now instead of what they have lost. It is my dog Jack who reminds me of this, when he comes over to my chair and gently nudges my arm and looks at me with his eyes that are cloudy with cataracts. He silently seems to say "forget about all that, lets go for a run".
The past was good and the memories are good but now is where I am and it is good too.
Below is an essay given to me by my friend Sid, who can recite it verbatim and often does while we are running our usual Sunday morning run. He should know about regrets. He is 87 and has lived a lot of life...and enjoys the present.
Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We're traveling by train and, from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flat lands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls
But uppermost in our conscious minds is our final destination--for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving, and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
"Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!" we promise ourselves. "When we're eighteen. . . win that promotion. . . put the last kid through college. . . buy that 450SL Mercedes-Benz. . . have a nest egg for retirement!" From that day on we will all live happily ever after.
Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion--it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday's a memory, tomorrow's a dream. Yesterday belongs to a history, tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday's a fading sunset, tomorrow's a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.
So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24, "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."
So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot oftener. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.
Yesterday morning I was sitting in my chair, heating pad at my aching back, at about 6 am. I thought of my mom and got teary as I wished I could just give her a call and ask her a few things about people she knew, old relatives now gone, or some knitting question. I suddenly found myself back in the 1960's, sitting in what we called "the room by the stove" in the house I grew up in. It is a stormy, cold day and my brother, cute, white blond hair and still sober at that young age, my sister and I wait to hear if Jan Tucker announces that the schools are closed. We are hopeful, eating our toast and jam, using the ironing board as our table. My dad comes in with a big chunk of wood that he throws in the wood stove. The wood sizzles as the snow on it melts, and the room is warm and cozy. My dad puts his choppers and wool liners on top of the stove and the smell of wet wool almost takes over the smell of home made bread toasted - but not quite. My mom drinks her coffee and our family is warm around the wood stove in that house that seemed to sway in the strong winter winds. The snowbanks outside pretty much cover the big window in the room but that adds insulation to the old house that probably didn't have much if any.
I get a little sad each March, and it takes me a moment to figure out why. Someone once told me when you are feeling sad and you are not sure why, you should look at the calendar. Its so true. My mom died on March 10th and March is hard - at least the first part. My dad's birthday is also in March - on St. Patrick's day. He would have been 87. Usually I am running a yearly half marathon in Moab on his birthday and I think of him as I run.
Relapses can occur over regrets we have. We think we have worked out our feelings but then something happens that reminds us of how imperfect we are... but it is our believe that we have to be perfect that makes us have regrets. Anything can trigger one of these relapses in me - maybe it is something someone says about a good day at work and I miss those days of being part of something big - a team of people who made a difference every day. I play the "shoulda coulda woulda" game for a while and focus on all I did not do instead of the good things I did do. I forget another platitude, "When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us".
Sometimes a person just has to sit down and take stock of all that they have now instead of what they have lost. It is my dog Jack who reminds me of this, when he comes over to my chair and gently nudges my arm and looks at me with his eyes that are cloudy with cataracts. He silently seems to say "forget about all that, lets go for a run".
The past was good and the memories are good but now is where I am and it is good too.
Below is an essay given to me by my friend Sid, who can recite it verbatim and often does while we are running our usual Sunday morning run. He should know about regrets. He is 87 and has lived a lot of life...and enjoys the present.
THE STATION
By Robert J. Hastings
Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We're traveling by train and, from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flat lands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls
But uppermost in our conscious minds is our final destination--for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving, and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
"Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!" we promise ourselves. "When we're eighteen. . . win that promotion. . . put the last kid through college. . . buy that 450SL Mercedes-Benz. . . have a nest egg for retirement!" From that day on we will all live happily ever after.
Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion--it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday's a memory, tomorrow's a dream. Yesterday belongs to a history, tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday's a fading sunset, tomorrow's a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.
So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.
"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24, "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."
So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot oftener. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.
Comments
Thank you for sharing!
"Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion--it constantly outdistances us."