Day 15: Something You Regret
I believe in having no regrets. One of the single most things I pray for is that at the end of my life, I can look back and honestly say that some days were good, some days were bad, some were perfect, some were heartbreaking, some were just so-so and easily forgettable, but not one of them do I regret, not one thing would I go back and change a choice I made for me and my life.
Okay. Having said that I do have to confess that I have a few things in my past that if I could take back I would.
There are people that have passed through my life, that I don't care to see again. There are events and circumstances that have happened that have been unpleasant and sad. But those are things that I wouldn't necessarily take back because they have helped shaped me to be who I am today. They have been the people I have met, things I have done and experienced, and the roads that I have taken that have put me exactly where I am in this moment.
Of course, having the knowledge I have now, there would be a few things I might have nudged in a different direction. There are people I have lost, and circumstances that have happened to loved ones, that I would without a doubt change for them if I could, but choices that I have made?
Things I do regret?
I didn't go on a family trip to Egypt my senior year of college. My grandmother has always had a love for Egyptian history, archeology, and culture (& alcohol, not just Egyptian alcohol, but alcohol in general). She has made several trips to Egypt over the past decade or so, and this last time she offered to take my family. Of course they went. I mean, duh. Yes, they went. But I didn't. I might have blamed it on studying for finals, and having to wrap up and present my senior history thesis. But the real reason I didn't go was I was terrified to fly. I have flown many times in my life. My aunt and uncle lived in San Francisco for years, and we went out there occasionally to visit. I've flown to Washington State, once for a cousin's graduation, and once for a skiing trip. I've flown places on various family vacations. I've flown to Europe TWICE. I mean, I've done it plenty of times. Yet, I was 24 years old, my grandmother offered to take me on a once in a lifetime trip, and I turned it down because I was completely paralyzed with fear of stepping foot on that airplane. This phobia seemed to develop over time, and several years after 9/11. I've never had a flying experience that would cause this intense fear. (Side note... we did miss our flight from New York to Atlanta due to weather, and had a random layover in St. Louis, the plane we hopped back home was basically a tin can with wings. The toilet didn't flush, and the cockpit door was broken, and we couldn't hear ourselves talk over the noise of the engines, but overall it was an okay flight). I'd even flown cross country since the day I my phobia started. This fear is not so much being terrified that an extremist with an ax to grind and a hatred of my country would choose my plane to fly through a building (I mean, that would be terrible), but rather it's a fear that one of the any million little pieces that keep my plane in the air for the required length of time, (as in, until our chosen destination was in site and the landing gear down, and seat backs and tray tables in their upright and locked positions). I have this recurring nightmare that I look out the window, and the wing of the plane has just fallen off, the oxygen masks have just dropped out of the ceiling, I can't get my seatbelt fastened, and we start the spinning downward decent of death, and can do absolutely nothing about it, but scream and really regret taking that specific flight <---nice huh? It's that thought that makes my heart seize up, and my chest get tight, and it's what makes me tell my grandmother over the phone when she offers me an all expenses paid trip to visit the cradle of civilization, "um, yeah... no thanks, but y'all have fun!" She was tentatively planning another trip towards the end of this year, or the beginning of next, but that may be shot due to the fact that the middle east is in complete turmoil, and can't get their acts together. So yeah, I completely hate and regret that I passed on that experience with my family.
Second thing I regret? my tattoo. eeeekkkkk!!! I forget I have it most of the time. Usually, until I see one on somebody else, and I roll my eyes until I remember and think, "who are you to judge? you have the most obvious tattoo, in the most obvious place that any teenage girl, drunk out of her mind, at Panama City Beach has" Yes folks, that's right. I (me!), has a tattoo of a butterfly on my lower back. *hangs my head* I'm so ashamed! Haha. I was young, and dumb, and apparently bored. And for some reason what little bit of creativity (and good judgement) I have was taking a day off, when I looked at my best friend, and said "ya wanna go with me to get a tattoo?" of course she said yes. And so we drove down to Marietta, I walked into the shop and up to the biggest, burliest, tattoo covered man there and said "I want a tattoo, but I don't want it to show, and I want it to be different" <---- butterfly on my lower back. Reeeally unique. Anyway, it's not that I hate tattoos. I'm just not a permanent ink drawing, faddish kind of girl, and yet here I am with one and it's forever....Oh the irony! The thing is, I don't even regret getting it. I just really regret where it is, and what it is. If I was going to get one, it should have meant something. It should have been personal. And it wasn't/isn't. Oh well, not much to be done about it now. At least, it may help me relate to my future kids better if one of them goes off their rocker a little bit. Never tried drugs, never been a boozer, don't listen to grudge metal bands, don't wear emo clothing, don't cheat or steel, but hey! mommy's got a tattoo, so she is totally relate-able! *wink*
Thirdly? I totally regret eating those two rows of samoas girl scout cookies I just scarfed down.