Why did I do that? Because I didn’t know better.
What could I have done differently? Nothing. I could have done nothing differently. Because despite better options, I didn’t choose any of them.
Why didn’t I know better? Because my ego told me what I really wanted to hear, overriding better.
Is there any hope for me. Little. But I hold onto it anyway.
It’s how I catch on. Or not.
Like that karaoke incident, convinced I could carry a tune, air guitar and all.
Or that fashion faux pas, trying to stand out and fit in but falling short of both.
And that DIY home improvement disaster when I thought, how hard could it be?
Only to be outdone by the DIY haircut.
Or that political rant, reminding me that opinion is the lowest form of intelligence.
But none hold a candle to the myriad of times I decided to speak my mind, awash in hurt, bypassing the three tests all words should pass: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?
Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Firsthand experience is the consolation prize of life. Know who you are. Leave it to the professionals. Nobody cares what I think. They care that I think like them.
It’s also the spice of life. Regrets are born of risks. Blessings are, too. I don’t care what “they” think either.
There’s no such thing as coulda, shoulda, woulda because the past was. It can’t be. All I got is next. Trial and trial. An error is just me misunderstanding. Regrets, I’ve had a few.