Regrets are worthless.
They misconstrue the past in sight and sound.
–Midtown, “No Place Feels Like Home”
Fuck woulda, coulda, and shoulda. Those ships have sailed and you’re still standing on the docks wondering why you aren’t at sea. Maybe one of those boats was going to a better place, a new life full of wealth and happiness. You feel stuck now, standing in a pile of seagull shit on a water-warped plank staring into the setting sun. You feel pretty sure that your last, best hope raised anchor without you, that you’ll never find such a fine vessel again.
You know who else felt like that? Motherfuckers who missed their chance to ride the Titanic. As you might have heard, it was the most luxurious ocean liner ever built, and a load of poor Europeans packed into its third-class compartments to find a better life in the Land of Opportunity. Most of them died in the bowels of ship as it sank beneath the surface of a freezing North Atlantic. Those formerly unlucky bastards who chickened out on the Southampton pier suddenly didn’t regret anything. Life’s fickle like that. The line between triumph and folly can by incredibly thin.
We cannot–and should not–forget the past. It has shaped us, and it factors into how we make decisions. And, if you make those decisions based on the best information you can get, after careful consideration of the consequences, you can’t regret them, however they turn out. What use is regret, anyway? It changes nothing, offers no solutions, and provides no insight.
Maybe you did shit the bed with that last decision. Just sitting in the mess feeling bad isn’t helping anyone. Get up, scrub everything down, and figure out how to keep it from happening again. Move! After you’ve showered, get yourself down to the docks again and look for the next ship. This one might just have enough lifeboats.