Regrets As We Age
By Charles LaFond
Senior Director, Development and Donor Communications
Humans have regrets in the same way humans have physical wounds.
When I look over my body in a full-length mirror, naked, in bright lights (which, at my age, takes courage), I see the marks of a life enthusiastically lived. The scar on my hand from the cut when I was nine. The scar on my abdomen from appendicitis at eleven. The scars on my feet where I once had toes just weeks ago.
And then there are our inner scars. There are wounds left by an absentee parent, a boundaryless parent, a close friend’s betrayal, a marriage dissolved, a partner’s death, a narcissist’s manipulations, or a profound disappointment. We all have these scars – it’s a price we pay to exist with enthusiasm.
As we age, the wounds mount up. And so, too, do the regrets.
Though I have many regrets, I love them. I love and celebrate them. They are badges of honor not unlike the splash of colorful medals on an aging veteran’s uniform. Each medal they wear marks courage, daring, and honor. They often fought and were wounded so that I would be free today.
Our regrets reveal what we value. When I regret an unkind word, I show value for kindness. When I regret interrupting a friend, I show value for respectful conversation. And when I regret a lie, big or small, I show value for honesty.
Humans have evolved over centuries as beings that rely on community. We navigate each other and have set up rules to help in conflict. But we also apologize for maintaining connection, when possible, because the connection was, for 250,000 years, the only way to survive and thrive. As we age, the things that ache – internal and external – mount up when it rains.
Every time I offer or ask for forgiveness, a regret gets its wings and flies away, so the bag of defensive armor and swords I drag around with me lightens.
What do we do with regrets? In my experience, we tell others about them so that two of us carry it, and my load lightens a bit. And secondly, we treat ourselves with compassion rather than contempt for having made or sustained whatever caused the internal scar. I speak to myself as if I were my kindest friend – a friend who would show me compassion rather than contempt. Then I get up, brush myself off, and return to the adventure of aging – of living.