On Regret

Non je ne regrette rien – rubbish!  One of the positive effects of not drinking is that my mind seems much sharper and, whereas in the past, inconvenient truths could always be masked by bringing forward cocktail hour, nowadays I have no anaesthetic escape and I have to follow problems through.  People who know about psychology also tell me that I am burdened with the censure of an active Freudian Super Ego.  Even so, it is natural, as we grow older, to reflect on our past.  Some things we remember with a rueful smile but others (and they’re the persistent memories) arouse a shiver of remorse as the guilt and perceived inadequacies of what we did in the past are exposed to our conscious scrutiny.  We cringe at the bad choices we made, the people we let down and, perhaps most importantly, the broken relationships that we have not taken steps to repair.  Regret for the past dulls our appetite for the future – it is corrosive and destructive.  As one approaches the final part of one’s life, surely it could be helpful to try to deal with our regrets and get on with enjoying our final days

I Googled “regret” to discover thousands of homilies and quotations but none seemed particularly helpful.  Robert Frost is typical in only teasing us on The Road Not Taken. Bishop Richard Holloway, is much more practical in reflecting on his life and wondering what his reducing future holds and how best to cope with it in “Three Score Years and Ten.”  He is particularly helpful in pointing out that a lot of what happened to us was not our fault.  Our entire existence has been guided by fate and destiny.  A lot of the “if only,” over which we might wring our hands, was actually out of our hands. And he goes on, tellingly, noting that whatever happened, happened and it is irreversible.  So, if we want to deal with our regret we need, first of all, to acknowledge our failure and to own up. We were responsible. But, whilst we cannot change the acts, we can forgive the actor.

It is said that we can only make sense of the future if we understand our past. It is possible that those we have lost contact with those we have wronged or they may even be dead.  How do we begin to seek their forgiveness when we cannot even identify them?    Eliot faced the same practical dilemma - “Then how should I begin, To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?”

Ignoring, for the moment, the difficulty of tracking down former victims, perhaps the first stage is self-forgiveness. Writing it all down, by way of a confession, would be difficult, maybe painful, but surely rewarding in its liberation? So, I shall begin to compile my own historical narrative, warts and all.  And when it’s done, I shall try to find those who are alive and try to make my peace with them. For those who have pre-deceased me then I shall simply recite my avowal in quiet reflection, probably whilst walking on the beach at Bamburgh and addressing my dear friend Norman Vale, who always listened but who tragically ended his own life a few years ago.

And then, I shall get on with enjoying what remains of my life.  When it is time to check in for the final flight I will know that I am only carrying hand luggage (no liquids for me these days) – the heavy baggage having already been deposited.

Finally, if you are reading this having already been advised of my remorse, I apologise for my clumsiness but, at least, the latter may now make more sense!