Here at the end of the year and the beginning of the new one, there are multiple suggestions for evaluating our past year. What are your New Year’s resolutions for 2014? Did you meet your goals for 2013? Did you review them during the year? Did you make them and ignore them or, gasp, did you ignore the whole process? I’ll admit that most years I’ve listed goals, which seemed more positive than New Year’s resolutions, and then sometime in the following year have looked them up in whatever journal I wrote them in to see how I did and start all over.

But in listening to those who seem to have goal setting and New Year’s planning down to a science and also while walking down the street and, frankly, eavesdropping, I’ve been struck with the negativity and extent of the “regret” I’ve heard and felt. Regret that I didn’t work on my poetry this year. Regret  that I didn’t wish the waitress “Merry Christmas” when I won’t see her again before the holiday. Regret that I didn’t take a couple of aspirin last night after drinking a tad more than I probably should have. And this is quite apart from the obviously life changing events that we regret: that one didn’t look both ways and see the car going too fast; that one regrets, in retrospect, agreeing to the seduction of a stranger; that one didn’t kiss one’s sweetheart good-bye that fateful morning. Plus the overall regret: the niggling suspicion that those resolutions for 2014 are already toast.

One positive thing about regrets is that they can be a useful heads-up. They may be part of a process of mourning, whether related to a death, error, or simple stupidity (at least that’s what you’re calling it). But the truth is that the longer we cling to that “what if” or beat ourselves up for that impetuous action (or lack of same), the longer we ourselves will stop living.

Yup. Regret pretty much kills the moments during which it exists, keeps us from claiming the present, and blinds us to the multiple joys and possibilities that exist in any one moment.

A few minutes ago I boarded a plane in one of those ubiquitous, strange, transitional, airports and realized after I found my seat that while I had my phone, I didn’t have the case for it — the case where my driver’s license and all my credit cards were. Major regret at not being more attentive. Panic at not being sure where it was. Desperation in trying to figure out how I’d manage without the cards and ID. Anger at this one more manifestation of what I call “mind fade.” Frustration that there was a long line of people getting on the plane behind me that was preventing me from dashing back to the terminal.

Suddenly there was a flight attendant doing her helping people board routine. She calmed me down with a “I’ll call up [past all the people getting on] and tell the attendant in the front. What does it look like?” Shortly afterwards I got a thumbs up that the other attendant had it. And when it was delivered it included a printed slip with my name, itinerary and seat number, and what looked for all the world like an apology as if it was Delta’s and not my fault.

Now I could keep on regretting my absentmindedness and beating myself up for carelessness. But if I did, I’d not see the sun on the snow below me, be impressed by my neighbor’s unobtrusive friendliness, and marvel and be grateful for the empty seat, on an otherwise full plane, between us.  On this flight, I’ve learned that I really can use my headphones and no one can hear me. I used a beverage coupon that was handed to me out of nowhere a few days ago. And the retrieval of the phone case is now a good story (albeit, I hope,  a warning to pay attention to my belongings).

Plus I’ve had the opportunity to write to you. So don’t cling to regret. You’ll miss the possibility of what is around you. Right now.

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Photo credits from top:

365, Beverages…..no use crying over it! — Andrea_44
Missing phone case — Spirit Moxie