Regret?

June 1, 2021

On June 6, my ex-husband will be 62 years old. He will be an old-codger then and have another year further to look back on. He will be one of any number of human souls who made it to the final act portion of three-act living. I beat him there. My dad beat me, so did my mom, so did my older brother. So did Mum. None of my immediate ones beat me by a mile, as I did not beat my former spouse by much…9 years ain’t a lifetime, is it? (unless you are a mayfly but that’s another story) All the creatures get to this part, if they are lucky or unlucky, some things do really depend on point of view and circumstance. We all share that much, point of view and circumstance, along with eating food and fouling a place afterwards, moving to the next place. In between, there are lots of stupid things we deliberately do or don’t. I don’t know why the power that is, was and will be set things up like that but that’s the way it is, was and will be.

In the movement that stars and planets, moons and daffodils perform, there isn’t a heck of a lot of use in looking backwards or forwards. Looking forward is not much use when the inertia of light speed is pushing you. “So step on the brakes, see what good that’ll do.” or “Shit..well, we hit it before I could say ‘Look out!'” For the stars and planets, backwards is a mighty long way and impossible to revisit. How the heck do you slow down and turn around? As humans, we can’t revisit where we have been, either. That place we were has changed, it isn’t there any more. We do try returning, of course. We aren’t all that smart, are we? We look back in our minds or actually try physically returning but the place has moved on. Other feelings live there now. They are different. We look back, evaluate but what good does the looking back do? (Maybe it offers a warning for the looking ahead part, I don’t know. The shit of it is, things change. What not to do in future becomes something different.)

I don’t think the daffodil or the cat looks back to evaluate anything. Maybe they do, secretly but the appearence is that the last moment does not matter, nor does the next. Does the pussycat reflect on his foolishness in jumping to the toilet and discovering the seat was open, not closed? Does he wring his paws with angst? Nope. (He does shake them a bit, I am witness.) I think the pussycat is focused on where he is going more than how he almost splash-dived to get there. He is in the moment of jumping, calculating trajectory and such. No time to look much further forward and you can’t look over your shoulder while traveling forward at speed. Even being human and so-called superiour, we can’t look back and forward, simultaneously. It is nicer to stay in the moment and possibly avoid that old lady who is crossing against the light. Not the one two blocks ahead, the one RIGHTHERE! No sense to end her last third prematurely. Probably get a lot of flack from those who depend on her pension. “Dammit, Grandma…now what?”

The daffodil just grows as much as he or she can, leaning or reaching in the direction of sun and water. For the lovely things, it isn’t possible to do anything except accept what comes their way and what space they are in. Not at all useful to look back toward the seed and the bee and the endless repeating story. And forward? Nossir, not much use looking forward when you are rooted by genetics and molecular biology to the spot you are in, a victim of or plaything of sun/water/wind.

I could have regrets and I could have fears. Oh my gosh, there are stacks of events now to reflect on. I was a spendthrift, a drunk, a jailbird, a bad lover, a wandering husband, a mean little snot. Oh yeah. I have the next few minutes of future as well. The stove could blow up? Donald Trump could become King Of Everything and end world hunger, strife. That could happen. The sun could explode, accidentally. I might have a heart attack when I get my TV cable bill and all that pay-per-view naughtiness comes to roost. The past and future, the regret and fear are real things but what drawer is best for them? Do I really have space to keep them? Do I need them? Aren’t they in the way? Don’t I stumble over them all the bloody time? Are they really useful to cling to?… (But I love that one, the dark grey…That is the time I was bad to my dear old Mum – I think I will keep that regret a while, even if it only fit for a moment and was forgiven long, long, long ago.)