If you have a conscience, you will experience regret at some time, somewhere, about someone. You cannot avoid it completely, but you can reduce the lingering unhappiness if you are lucky and understand the potential pitfalls ahead.
I hope to show you how.
First, what is regret?
In her book Regret: the Persistence of the Possible, Janet Landman likens it to the dilemma of coming to a fork in the road and making a choice. You walk down the chosen path until you realize your selection isn’t as satisfactory as you hoped. “I should have gone the other way.”
No matter which lane you pick, “the persistence of the possible” is present. Nothing in life is without blemishes, but in your imagination, the alternative — the avenue you didn’t travel — remains idealized as a better option.
Perfection resides in your mind alone – in the world of abstraction and fantasy. The perfect job, the perfect mate, the perfect performance of whatever kind.
Sometimes, you can retrace your steps and begin again — a kind of do-over. However, the one thing you cannot change is something done or not done to someone lost to you — irrevocably out of reach because of distance or death.
Yes, occasionally, you can call or write a living person and apologize without excuses for your behavior. Perhaps he will allow you to make up for the harm you did in words or deeds. But death is the red line impossible to cross. Your chance has passed, and now he is gone.
You cannot say “I love you” to one you loved but never told. You cannot ask them to utter those words to you. Nor can you discuss the history you share.
The decades of memories only he contained vanish unless a close confidant fills in a few of the puzzle pieces you seek. Knowledge of where he came from, what he did in life, and how he met his spouse all disappear.
Some regrets are possible to predict. Imagine dear friends you have not spoken with or seen for a time. If you assume they will live indefinitely, the Grim Reaper may punish you for waiting.
The chance of an accident or medical emergency rises as the months pass, not to mention the slow development of natural causes as he moves toward the end of life. Without knowledge of his status, you discover the demise too late.
What then, while you and the other still share a future on earth? Call or email him. Make arrangements to meet. Travel to do so if necessary. Avoid the possible disappointment of taking action too late or not at all.
Some of us, perhaps all of us, believe time is on our side. The friend or loved one is healthy, young enough, and cautious, we say to ourselves. Genetic inheritance predicts a long life for him, we like to think, despite no guarantee.
Maybe you have never told him how much he means to you. That’s what email and letters are for, but face-to-face contact is better than Zoom, more personal, and more touching. Are you afraid to cry? No one will prevent you. The sincerity of your words will be enlarged thereby.
Our parents and those older than ourselves rank high on most lists of the people we should visit, speak with, embrace, or all three. Too many clients in my psychotherapy career never heard they were loved. Too few addressed the other injuries they believed the parent inflicted.
As hard as reconciliation is to accomplish, living mothers, fathers, and siblings provide the chance to put right their wrongs simply by their continuing existence.
Many believe talking with seniors about their inevitable death is improper. One thinks the parent or older relative will be discomforted and will assume the questioner intends to discover or influence an inheritance.
Some might, but not all. My father agreed to complete a videotaped four-hour history I conducted with him when he was 74. He understood the reason I made the request. Were he guaranteed a lifetime to match Methuselah,* the chance to consult him, keep him close, ask questions, and display my love would long be available.
I wanted to retain something of him beyond the time of his death — his voice, his movements, his life story, and our way of relating. This video was for me, my brothers, my children, and their kids to receive and witness. Those hours brought my dad and me closer.
Consider personalizing what I have written here — applying it to your life. Unfortunately, some people you might have spoken with perished too soon. As Goethe wrote, “Names are like sound and smoke.” Here and gone.
If you are experiencing guilt over lost opportunities, ask yourself if the departed was the sort of person who would hold a grudge. Think back and recall if she or he would have wished for your continued happiness. In many cases, the answers to these two questions will be no and yes, in order.
Mourn their loss and remember the goodness in them that would have enabled their kindness. Indeed, perhaps they never gave a single thought to the injury you inflicted nor carried it inside. They would have thought of you with fondness even today.
Then, having accepted the truth of their unspoken forgiveness, forgive the only one left to forgive.
Yourself.
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*Methuselah was a biblical patriarch who lived 969 years.
The top photo is of a sculpture by Michal Klajban called Passing Time, located in Christchurch, New Zealand. Next is an Analog Clock animation by CeeWhite. It is followed by a photo of Regret (Verdun, Meuse), a city limit sign by Havang. Finally, a 19th-century watercolor of Two Men Shaking Hands on Meeting. All of these are sourced from Wikimedia Commons.
This resonates….”Perfection resides in your mind alone – in the world of abstraction and fantasy”. Oh my yes. Getting out of my head…the place where I often retreat to idealize…everything…is a daily chore. Thank you for all of this and for the reminder to make haste, reconcile if possible. (And the Goethe quote? Oh my yes…here and gone, indeed.) 💕
Thank you, Vicki. It sure is a complicated topic, in part because we don’t want to think about the reason some sense of urgency is required.
Truth right there. ❤️
Hi Gerry,
This essay is fabulous, one of my favorites of your many excellent essays. Thank you for expressing these pearls of wisdom (and of forgiveness) so beautifully.
With gratitude and appreciation, Janet
Thank you, Janet. Your enthusiasm is appreciated. I imagine those who have not encountered some of the challenges I mentioned might prefer not to think about this. That you did is a credit to you.
This brings to mind a recent conversation I had with my adult kids. I asked them if they had a preference where I was buried. Their father’s cremains of five years ago still comfort me on a bookshelf in my living room, but the kids know his final wishes. Now our kids gave me no preferences, so I started investigating and have come pretty close to a decision about where I’d like my cremains. I thought I’d tell my kids after I’d made the arrangements. Then two weeks ago I fell, landed on a busy street, and could have been killed had not a passerby jumped into street to reroute oncoming traffic. The first thing I did upon awakening from a short bout of loss of consciousness in the hospital was tell my kids about my wishes for my cremains. I shudder to think no one would have known. Not that I would ever know, of course, but it certainly has given my peace of mind now. I want no regrets!
Based on the story of your fall, at least one thing went the way you wanted it. I hope your recovery is progressing well, Lois. Thanks for the story and be well. The world of all living still needs you around.
You make a good point about telling people you care about that you love them, now, before it’s too late. But what about telling that to someone who doesn’t feel the same way about you? Would the regret be that you said it or in the end that you never said it?
Good question, Brewdun. Having done this with respect to an apology and receiving a a complicated answer, I can say I would do it again. It was about my belief that I needed to apologize, which I satisfied. I was prepared for whatever came my way, including no response or a blistering response. In general, I would recommend similar preparation.
Thank you!
Dr. Stein, thanks for addressing this difficult, yet necessary, subject of regret and guilt. I still question my decision to move to the USA and all the negative outcomes of that decision, especially for my sons who lost their friends. To counter these feelings of regret, I work at focusing on the positive outcomes as I conceive them to be.
Regarding telling people how much they mean to us, I try not to miss opportunities to express my gratitude. Some people can be quite spooked. My sons ask me if I’m okay 🙂
My best friend was also spooked when I gifted her with a beautifully illustrated book about giving thanks at our Christmas 2015 celebration. “What’s this about, Rose,” she asked me, with a puzzled look. “I couldn’t resist getting a copy and giving thanks for our friendship,” I told her. In February 2016, she was diagnosed with lung cancer and died in March 2017. Did she know at the time that she was seriously ill, but has said nothing to me?
I am very sorry for the loss of your best friend, Rosaliene. Is it possible that staying away from the US might have produced even more or larger negative outcomes? Your good wishes to those you love is a lovely practice, I think. Be well, Rosaliene.
Thanks for that reminder, Dr. Stein. When I made the decision to leave Brazil, I had considered all the possible negative outcomes that would’ve impacted my sons. As we learn over time, every decision has its downside.
This is such a needed topic to talk about! Too many are struggling with hidden regrets. Of course, we make decisions based on the information, and our abilities at the time, but when we look back on the series of events that happened after, we have regret and think that our lives may have turned out differently had we made a different decision.
I have come to see we are very harsh on ourselves when we look back. We expect our younger selves to have the knowledge of what could happen, and we don’t give ourselves much grace. Beating ourselves up is all to rampant. If we can learn to give ourselves grace, and say, “I did the best I could based on the information I had” or “I was young and foolish, now I know better!”
Right on target, Tamara. We are never fully formed, unchangeable and unchanging. Those who believe this have shrouded every mirror. The human condition traps us from knowing ourselves in the way others do. Without multiple sets of eyes, how can we ever know everything? Some amount of grace is necessary, just as you say. Thank you, Tamara.
What a beautiful essay, Dr. Stein. It seems like what you’ve written so beautifully here is the alchemy that can change lives. With either the living or the dead, we have the chance to change endings into softer milestones from which we can more easily move on from. Brilliant!
You are very kind, Wynne. Perhaps not surprisingly, an old friend’s death brought several of my old friends together, all of whom knew the departed for a half century. A combination of laughter, questions, and tears. Sic transit Gloria mundi.