There are so many things I would do different, if I could go back in time and meet my past self...and if my past self would listen and understand and take advice from my future self, which is doubtful, knowing my past self as I do.
There are times I look back through my journals (I've kept journals off and on since age eight) and I cringe. It's not really a pleasant experience for me. It's at times like that that my regrets come running up to me, but more often than not, I push them back down.
I know I always did the best I knew how at the time. Still do. I've made a lot of progress since age eight.
My family is overall in a very good place, and I'm blessed to not have too many overwhelming regrets (thank the Lord!). Yet, there's still a few things I might have changed...
Television
I'd have deep-sixed that puppy - put it right out the window, along with the Internet once I realized how television-like it was becoming. But truth be told, that's hard to do, when you rely on that electronic babysitter as I did. My kids are able to read, and while I might wish that they liked reading more than they do, they do actually read from time to time.
College
I'd have finished my bachelor's degree when I was younger...the spectre of my unfinished degree really has haunted me and my family for many, many years. But try as I might, there never seemed to be a good time to do it. Other priorities always presented themselves as more important, over and over again. I did get my associate's degree, and do still plan to go after my bachelor's degree when the kids aren't relying on me for theirs, so we'll see in that department.
Better Prepared
I'd have worked harder to understand what learning disabilities and autism spectrum and mental illness really are and how better to deal with them. Every time I got hit with it - every child I have suffers with one or another of these - it threw me into a dark place of blame and shame for awhile, that I didn't really need to do, looking back.
One Major Project At a Time
My most major regret - one that I hope I can make up for in the next life if time travel is really possible - is missing the play I directed in high school.
When a senior in high school, I had the opportunity to direct a one-act for the school's one-act play festival. I'd never done any project management at this level in my life, and with all my heart, I wanted it to be good.
I found the funniest play I could find, and grabbed my actors that I wanted at the very first opportunity. Dennis for the lead, my friend Patty for the teacher, my best friend Andy for the voice of conscience, and then I filled in the rest of the minor parts with other students from drama class.
I spent so much time working on that play, I nearly flunked three other classes, but it was on my mind constantly. I made lists and lists of details. Those actors worked hard for me. They were so perfectly cast. The rehearsals were hilarious, and everyone took direction so well.
I only had one meltdown from Andy, and we worked through that, but then performance night came - but I wasn't going to be able to be there.
You see, I'd also (stupidly) auditioned for and won a chorus part in a local community production of "Hello, Dolly!" which was playing performances on the very same evenings as the one-act festival at school. I would be able to come AFTER the one-acts were over, but I couldn't be there for the performances.
No problem, I thought. Andy was my assistant director, and he knew what to do. I didn't need to be there.
What I didn't realize later was how much I would want to be there.
When I arrived after the first night, everyone surrounded me, excitement in their eyes. The audience loved it! They roared with laughter! Everything went off without a hitch. My play was head-and-shoulders above the others.
I won Best Director and Best Play that night. Oscar-style, I stood up, stunned, to receive my awards. Dennis won Best Actor. Patty won Best Supporting Actress.
And I missed the whole thing.
Sure, I saw it in rehearsal...but I missed the audience. That live moment of a crowd, roaring in laughter, at something I'd done. Instead, I chose the chorus of Hello Dolly, and I really shouldn't have done that. I should have quit Hello Dolly that night, but I'd already committed to do it, so I was stuck.
So I'm hoping, someday, that that moment is in some great heavenly archive that I can pull up and experience again in its fullness. Not to change anything, but just to see it. To be there when it happened. That would be a great, great gift. :-)
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