Growing up includes humble surrender to all we are and are not

Q: “How does one get past regret? I have regrets from my childhood, my adolescence and as a young adult. If only time travel were possible! I dream about how I would go back and do so many things differently, so that my life would be better today. I can’t seem to get past the mistakes I made as a younger person.” — Name withheld, Las Vegas

A: Here’s a fun parlor game: The Worst Thing I’ve Ever Done. Ever played?

It tends to be played spontaneously — in hotel rooms or on late-night road trips. Maybe after most of the partygoers have gone home, and now it’s just you and one or two best friends in a living room. The likelihood of this game goes up in direct proportion to the number of open wine bottles and empty beer cans in the room.

The game begins: “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Regrets fall quickly into three categories: missed opportunities, bad judgment and moral regrets.

MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

We miss opportunities because we can’t or don’t appreciate the open door before us. For example, I regret giving up on the guitar as a freshman in college. I wish I’d had the guts and the discipline to stick with it. I was 33 before I gave myself permission to be artistic and creative, to write and sing songs. What was I afraid of?

Want the truth? I’ve spent much of my life afraid of excellence.

We miss opportunities because we have egos as big as cathedrals and, paradoxically, as frail as butterfly wings. Especially in adolescence and young adulthood. Talking to youngsters about smoking, drinking, drugs, teen pregnancy, staying in school, choosing friends wisely, training for a meaningful career … well, sometimes it feels like this:

Grown-up: “My best advice is don’t deliberately hit yourself with all your might in the head with this sledgehammer. It will really hurt and you won’t like it.”

Youngster: “Yeah, what do you know? You can’t tell me what to do!”

Our regret over missed opportunities really comes down to our embarrassing dismay over how long it took us to grow up. Not to mention the growing up we still have left to do.

BAD JUDGMENT

We pick wrong. We’re unlucky. Mostly we choose unwisely because we are not at the time in possession of sufficient wisdom. Instead of the new car behind Door No. 1, we pick the mule behind Door No. 2. And it’s more than just the random failures of “betting on the wrong horse.” More people than you could ever imagine come to regret the decision to divorce, change jobs or relocate.

So, we’re back to growing up, because, while facts and knowledge come in a box, judgment and wisdom only come with time.

Punishing and paralyzing ourselves for unattained levels of maturity — growing up — is a bit like resenting not yet germinated wildflower seeds that lie slumbering in the desert sand. They grow and bloom when they grow and bloom. Not a moment before. Heaping contempt on the seeds doesn’t make them grow and bloom any faster.

MORAL REGRETS

Wish I had a nickel for every celebrity I’ve ever seen on a talk show who smiles a superior, enlightened smile, nods like the Buddha, and says meaningfully, “I have no regrets.”

May I be frank? If you have no regrets, then take a hike. I don’t want to know you. Because, while you might have been a “being,” you’ve never been a human being. Human beings have regrets. Buckets of them.

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?

I’ll die ashamed of the way I treated my little sister when I was growing up. Oh sure, I can explain it clinically in the context of my family’s systemic dysfunction. I was the Hero. She was the Scapegoat. Blah blah blah.

I was cruel to her because it assuaged my ego to be cruel to her. That she has forgiven me boggles the mind. An undeserved gift.

Here’s where I’m supposed to take off on my “forgive yourself” speech, right? Wrong. Great if you can forgive yourself. But before that’s even possible, we must tell ourselves the truth and accept that truth. The truth includes regret. Guilt. Sorrow.

Growing up includes a humble surrender to all we are and are not. The regrettable parts of our past become just as important as the laudable parts. Ironic treasures. Sources of surprising peace and wisdom. A tether for ego. A measure by which we appreciate the miracle of love and friendship.

You’ll never hear me say, “I have no regrets.” What I strive for is not having any regrets about my regrets.

I no longer apologize for being a human being.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal. com.