Like Danae, I’m going to struggle with this: I don’t regret, or try really hard not to. Alas:
- I wish I’d listened to my gut instinct senior year and hadn’t let bias/fallacy slide by me when commented by teachers. I wish I had fact-checked those comments about there being no remembered law that let college students sit out on the Vietnam war, among other comments that I later found to be either a.) untrue or b.) flawed. And I don’t even resent those teachers for that; it’s just that I did once, and I wouldn’t have if I’d taken the time to research my shit. It turns out my earliest lessons in journalism went unnoticed.
- I wish I hadn’t tried so hard to protect my brother. It made me look resentful and was rude. I’ve seen too many people lose a little brother — except I don’t get any other sibs.
- I wish I hadn’t let my own beliefs about “that high school relationship” and “making it work” taint my senior year of high school/freshman year of college. I could have let go of something without that fear of being single, enjoyed those years more and not lost a friend, someone who was a fine person just not the person for me, over it.
- I don’t regret my last real relationship, or that it happened. I do, however, wish I’d admitted to myself earlier that no, I wasn’t over someone else, and yes, there were more feelings there. I wish I hadn’t strung someone along for five months of his adult life and given a facade that I was moved on and fine. I wish I’d admitted sooner that I was deeper in something previous than I cared to admit. I wasted somebody’s time and lead someone on.
- I wish I hadn’t let shitty people get to me. In high school when none of their snide comments mattered. In college when a student organization that “Looks great on your resume!” just meant gossip and tension between people who were not in the position to influence or instigate it. And even after moving, when I supposedly was starting fresh, but still couldn’t tell a person the truth to say how much I was hurt and how much I was used. Far too many times, I’ve bent over backward because I didn’t want to give up on things that in hindsight weren’t worth holding onto.
- I wish I hadn’t tried to be a pop singer when trying out for fourth and fifth grade solos in music class and just sang normally instead. Even if I was afraid of sounding “immature,” I was a fucking fourth and fifth grader!