WHAT I DON'T REGRET

So much of our days, weeks, months and years are spent looking at the choices we did not make; the paths we are sure would have brought us to a place where no regrets live. I struggle with my regrets. And I've achieved some pretty great things in my life. But, it doesn't matter, in the end, because its the paths we take out of fear (and we ALL have walked these lines) that cause us to suffocate.                                                     Woke up this morning needing to find perspective, if only for today. Just today. Because I could not contemplate another tomorrow like yesterday. It was heartbreaking.

Decided to remind my head and my heart what I don't regret:

1. Writing. If I hadn't put down in words my angst, pain and fury and fear I would never have learned our emotions live outside of us. While I carried them around with me like undesired necessaries, I found my happy constantly at war with my sad; often convinced the latter would win out in a self fulfilling prophecy. Here's the thing: Subjectivity kills. It wasn't until I placed each of my adversaries on paper, that I could step away and look at them objectively. They became simply pawns in a game I was the master at--a game I decided I was not willing to lose. Objectivity strengthens our resolve.

2. Serving others. Since I was a little girl, I was taught by strangers the survival of many is due in great part by the service of the few. Foster parents care for the children of parents who cannot. Shelters house folks who cannot provide housing for themselves. Those fortunate enough to exist without mental illness understand the importance of caring for those destined to become lost in their own minds. Every time I give of my experience, my energy, my material possessions, my heart I stand taller. Wanna give more. Realize how very little I need. Serving is a selfless act that takes our attention away from depression, anxiety and all those evil opponents that want us to believe this life is all about us. Doesn't cure those very real disorders, but the buffer created by helping others takes the focus off. And that's a good thing.

3. Loving. This seems like an easy one, but for those of us who were traumatized at an early age, loving is an act of bravery most cannot fathom. Not able to allow love to flow until I had bore children of my own, left me side swiped; my lonely self inflicted existence for thirty three years was so terrified of having to open my heart, I went into shock only moments after they were born. Could not stop shaking. Crying. I decided to love. Open hearted. Filled me with a sense of peace I have not since been able to replicate anywhere else except when I write. Loving is the only thing that matters.

4. Accepting who I am. Nobody knew my past. Nobody. There were shadows some would see follow me around, and I'd get questions now and again, but my brief response would soon put the inquiries to rest. Then, in my late forties, I began to write on Facebook. Never consciously aware; seemed like the keyboard worked itself pouring out my stories, the wall of refrain melted away. And folks began to heal and hope for their own lives. If I could get past the horror, surely they could. Embracing my scars, owning my ugly background started me on a path to come full circle. Isn't that what we are supposed to do in this circle of life?

I am a good person that has made some devastatingly hurtful bad choices. No denying it. I am also a woman who has taken who I am and used those mistakes and what she has learned over the long haul to benefit someone else. Lots of someone elses. Both of my paths have seen the worn soles of my feet. Today, I will focus on the paths that made others lives just a bit better. Tomorrow? I am going to keep those in mind when I am standing at the next fork in the road--because there is always a fork in the road. Its when we forget to honor our good stuff that the bad stuff repeats itself.