Would I have any regrets?
Would I feel I have missed out on things?
I wish, of course, I’d have had more talks with my father.
I wish I could have had much more intimacy with Laura, my therapist, a role which, oddly, destroys any real chance of intimacy. In our client-therapist role we miss out on all the good stuff, the potential, the vibrancy of a different constellation that our combination is suited for. But hey, it’s not to be. At least there’s the reminder that, in theory, you can meet people you vibe with on an ‘other’ level.
There’s Adriana, a lady with strong moral convictions, and a rare purity, I spent lots of sunny days in parks with, who’s moved 1200 km away, and whom I will probably not see again, unless once or twice perhaps. I’ve rarely met someone so intelligent who was so enthusiastic about life. The two qualities don’t seem to mix well.
I missed out on coming truly close to these two exceptional beings, and the only comfort I have is that this means we also missed out on slamming doors, yelling at each other, getting upset about the other making a spaghetti sauce stain on the couch, and the other’s stressy moments. When it comes to intimacy you can’t just enjoy the cosy bear’s hide, you have to hunt it, kill it, and skin it too.
I rather regret not having been of much value to lots of people. I regret com-ple-te-ly wasting about six years of my life, at the very least.
I regret having forcefully bathed some people in an acid stew of my more vicious words.
I regret every minute I spent feeling envious of people, both those I call friends and those I have a natural aversion of. I regret every minute I sank away in self-pitying depression.
I regret not knowing if there is any sort of value to be drawn from not getting to sleep with someone you most desperately want to sleep with, to the point that life loses all meaning if you don’t. I don’t know why that ordeal needs to be part of the human experience. And regret the pain this has caused others, those less animalistic, in my life.
I regret ever having worked for hypocrites.
I regret that we spend more time chasing paper money to buy material stuff with than we spend time exchanging ‘spiritual’ value with others.
I wince at the thought that ‘spirituality’ is a dirty word in our culture, with even some of my friends ready to mock me as soon as I say anything that could sound vaguely spiritual, or even worse, esoteric.
I regret that I couldn’t see past the way people look, and that I am very guilty of showing far more attention and far more devotion and far more kindness to women I thought were not just intelligent, but also stunningly gorgeous. I don’t want to know how much less Laura would pop up in my head if she had had ten facial piercings, an uninteresting nose, small eyes, a squeaky voice, different hair, no sandmill figure, unglamorous clothes, and had walked like a drunk cowboy instead of a 1960’s Hollywood star.
I regret having seen what I want to label ‘evil’ and never having found an effective way to stop it. Perhaps that’s my deepest regret, after missing out on intimacy with the aforementioned people, that the world is ruled by exactly those people I find despicable, that the people I have the most respect for and the most sympathy always have the qualities that make them politically powerless in a system that is still mostly ruled by the short term reflexes of the most base part of our nature, our reptilian brain.
And I regret having been always, almost always, hungry, restlessly starving, not knowing what could possibly have made the hunger go away…
This is not a post that will be read by more than three or four people, it’s too personal for that, but it’s one of the most ‘authentic’ you will find here.