Part of being human is dealing with regret.
It's like the hardest part, for me, of being human. I hate hate hate hate hate that sick feeling of regret.
The first time I remember feeling regret (though I didn't know what the word was for it then) was when I stole handfuls of pennies from my sister's (and I don't remember which one) box under her bed. Why I was under her bed in the first place I have no idea (probably a game of hide and seek), but I found literally a treasure trove of pennies. And pennies meant tootsie rolls (one penny) and bazooka gum (three pennies) at Benjamin Franklin. So I reached in and grabbed out handfuls and ran to my room to hide them. And next time we were out, I bought a whole big bag of treats. And the next time and the next time . . . all with handfuls of stolen pennies.
Then the sister (and honestly, I still can't remember) pulled out her box and began literally crying about how she had no money. Her penny box was almost empty. She asked everyone if they'd taken it and they all said, No. I don't think she even asked me because I was tiny and couldn't have taken it. And though I was young, I was smart for my age and knew if I admitted it, something BAD would happen.
So I kept my mouth shut.
And felt yucky all over. I didn't know how to fix it. I felt helpless and lost and scared and worried and sad and regretful. For the first time, I thought, Oh, I wish I didn't do that. If I could go back, I would put all the pennies back. The bag of treats I still had, I remember giving them to my sister. She didn't want them. She just wanted her money.
I learned then, that I didn't want to feel this sick feeling ever again. So I would try to think about things before I did them. Would this or that make me have that sick feeling again? If there was a slight possibility, then I would rarely do it.
Now, that did not mean I didn't feel regret. Oh I did. Because theres a world of things I didn't know could make people sad (like making fun of someone . . . who knew that could make the said person feel bad about themselves and cry . . . note to self, don't do that . . . etc) so it was a learning curve and I was definitely learning!
That the first time. There were lots of others, but they don't stand out quite as much.
And then, at the end of my sophomore year, I learned what true regret felt like--the pain was not just shame of my decisions, it was that my decision lost me something precious.
My best friend, and often over the years, my only friend Sarah was in love with a boy named Patrick Omara. He was tall and gangly and played the guitar and sang like no bodies business. Sarah had eyes only for Patrick. Her world for a year revolved around this darling boy. They were friends and maybe getting closer to being more than friends when I met Patrick. I was homeschooled remember and so my interaction with anyone who wasn't a close friend was limited. I don't even remember how we met (I'm the worst, really!), but we met and he may have liked me right off the bat. I was not having any of it, he was Sarah's man, but then . . . oh dear, he played his guitar and sang to me . . . and I was a gonner! Like, melted away to nothing. Of course, I told him all about Sarah and how we could never be together but . . . he somehow convinced me otherwise (he probably sang me another song).
I didn't know what to do. But for sure I could never tell Sarah. She would hate me. So, being me, I just kept on having this secret thing with Patrick and then listening to Sarah talk and sigh and goo over him.
WORST.
FRIEND.
EVER.
I know this.
But I couldn't help myself. A talented boyfriend (he asked me out and I said yes) and a best friend. I could keep them both right?
Nope.
I don't even remember how she found out (most likely someone told her), but she called me up and may or may not have yelled at me for a long time.
We'd been best friends for like 11 years and she and I had never really had one fight about anything. We were each other's people. When someone got mad at us, we went to each other to figure it out. We were the kind of best friends who could honestly sit by each other for hours not saying anything and be just so happy to be together. We could finish each other sentences. We knew pretty much everything there was to know about the other person and we loved each other anyways.
I had no idea how rare and special that friendship was.
When she finished yelling at me she told me that I was no longer her friend.
Not best friend, no longer a friend at all and to never call her again.
I'm telling you, I hoped on my bike and road to her house (I didn't have my license yet) and banged on her door. I think we talked it out a little bit . . . and I want to say that I told her I would never talk to or see Patrick again if that meant we could be friends, but I probably didn't. I was pretty infatuated with him. I probably said something stupid like, I didn't try to make him like me. He just did. I didn't mean to lie to you, I just couldn't figure out how to tell you so you wouldn't hate me. Why can't we all be friends?
Ugh.
I was not so great at 16.
Sarah was kinder than she should have been I do remember that but she told me to just go home. And that's when I knew something had broken and it couldn't be fixed right away.
Or worse . . .
Maybe ever.
I don't ever remember when things started going south with Patrick. It was pretty quickly. It turns out though he was darling in every way, and he sang and played like no one's business, he and I were interested in really different things. Darn it. And like all things, it played itself out.
(Ok, so maybe not . . . if you've been following this blog, Patrick was the boyfriend I sort of never broke up with before I hooked up with John . . . (it's in this post). I'm telling you, my sixteen year old self was not totally clued in. She was young, spontaneous and really really self absorbed! But it's Confession Sunday . . . sooo here's my ugly confessions for you all to enjoy!)
And when the final song was sung (me, telling Patrick, sooo I've met someone else and I don't really want to talk to you again . . . like ever), I called Sarah to tell her what happened.
And she picked up the phone.
And told me that Patrick had already called me.
And she hated me for Patrick sake . . . HOW COULD I break his heart?
And so . . . she comforted him.
And they lasted maybe two weeks.
Because, she admitted once she talked to me again, he really needed to learn a thing or two about kissing . . . and all he wanted to do was play his guitar. Like EVER!
But it would be years and years before we got back to where we were. Until she really forgave me and I forgave myself.
My junior and senior year, when I went back to public school, she tried to help me (and did so much especially the first few weeks), but the damage had been done. That fragile and most precious of things, trust, had been broken. And we no longer shared our deepest secrets. We didn't call each other five times a day. We drifted away from each other because it was easier than dealing with our pain.
To this day, I think I learned more from The Patrick Debacle (as I think of it), than anything else in my other sixteen years:
- When you lie, you will always be caught
- Friends, and friendships, are worth more than any man ever. EVER. **
- Once trust is broken, it is VERY VERY VERY hard (and sometimes impossible) to earn back
- Hurting someone you love HURTS really really really bad.
**(Ok, except maybe the one you marry . . . but if it's a good marriage, you can have BOTH--John knows he better not get between me and my friends or sisters--very very bad idea. He's never once said no when I've said this or that friend needs me or I'm buying a ticket to see this or that person. He just says, please try to make it affordable and what dates will you be gone? And this people is why I am still married. Because he's the best ever and he knows that friends are as essential to me as breathing)
And that last one, how hurting someone you love hurts you right back (sometimes even worse) has been the biggest kicker in my life.
I wish I could tell you that at sixteen, I figured it all out and never felt a moment regret again.
Oh, how I wish I could.
But it turns out I'm human and a very slow learner and in fact, Regret and me, we meet up way more often than I'd like.
I have yet to enjoy a visit with Regret, but lately, as I'm using my years and years of experience, I'm realizing that regret is always a catalyst for change . . . if I let it. If I face up to the fact that I totally was in the wrong and sucked at that moment and as fast as possible try to make it right . . . . I've seen regret make me into a better human.
Now, I'm not saying, I don't have about seven billion more miles to go, but this week when I had some serious interactions with regret, instead of wanting to bury myself in the nearest hole and not come out for a year, I thought, Nope, not today REGRET. You will will not make me avoid and shift blame and feel bad (well . . . maybe you will a little, but not all the way).
Because I know that you, Regret, are just an opportunity for me to change. To be a little faster to say sorry. For me to forgive. For me to try and understand and be generous and let things go.
So instead of feeling shame, I'm going to try and see your visit as a chance to become a better (even if it's minuscule) human.
Thank you for giving me a chance to see where I could be better and reminding me that I should.
Comments
Post a Comment