What I did, what I wish I’d done
Few people reach their mid-70s without any regrets. Fortunately, I don’t often think about roads not followed. I’m generally happy with most of my decisions. And I know I wouldn’t have the life and the family and friends that I have now if I had taken other paths.
But in thinking about this, I can see that two major regrets are tied to loss and heartache.
I wish I had spent more time with my mother (and helping to care for her) before she died in 1991 at the age of 64. She had a long, progressive neurological disease. My father and my three siblings, especially my younger sister, helped care for her as much as we could.
But we all had spouses and young children in addition to jobs, so finding the time to take care of mom was not easy. She died when I was 38; I was a busy and sometimes overwhelmed mother to young twins. I went to my parents’ house 45 minutes away as often as possible, but I still wish I had been able to spend more time with her.
Even though she died years ago, I miss her every day, and at times I feel that she is by my side or hovering above me helping me through life.
Another regret is not so black and white.
When I was 20 and a junior in college, I followed my high school/college sweetheart to his university. I had been in school on the east coast, he was on an athletic scholarship on the west coast. The move didn’t work out.
At the end of that year, we broke up and I returned to my East Coast university for my final year of college. I don’t entirely regret moving west, temporarily as it turned out. It allowed me to explore the next stage of that relationship, which ultimately wasn’t in the cards. And I lived in and explored a beautiful part of the United States and became more independent.
However, the heartache of breaking up with someone so close to me affected me for a while.
I moved on to dating and other relationships and I eventually met the person who became my husband and married at age 34 (instead of 21!). Still, I’ve always felt a bit embarrassed by the decision to go where my boyfriend was—that I somehow failed because the relationship didn’t last. And I’m a little ashamed, as a feminist, that I had followed him and did what he wanted or thought he wanted.
That was a long time ago. More recently—and more minor—I regret our decision in 2019 to sell the beach condo we owned for five years. This decision was totally based on rationality and events: in those years of ownership, we experienced leaks and damage from the unit above, then Hurricane Florence damage and then the reality that my husband’s cancer made it difficult to spend as much time as I wanted there.
But I sometimes miss the freedom of going to our retreat whenever we wanted. The upside is we can now rent places that are larger and accommodate our family and grandchildren. And I don’t miss the stress and costs of vacation home ownership.
I have a few much less significant regrets I’m trying to address in my 70s. For example, I don’t believe I have much artistic talent, but some people think I do, so I’ve been trying my hand at watercolor painting. I certainly enjoy dabbling (no pun intended), but I remain my own worst critic.
And I don’t regret at all that I’m trying to accomplish some of the things I always wanted to do.