Who am I?
Emptiness rests on the sweat of my brow. I search for hungry minds and feed them empty words, filling their bellies with anger and angst.
I crushed hope, carried sorrow, and squandered love’s first and last kiss.
I make the sailor look eastward for the sunset and west for the sunrise.
I am at the end of every empire. You see my shadow rest on the sullen looks of a schoolboy. I am a politician with too many mistresses.
I am a pandemic of distrust and grandiose lies.
I look for tomorrow but see yesterday.
Find me in the glassy-eye reflection of an old man. And, before he dies, I remind him of unfulfilled potential and heavy losses.
Do you need more clues?
The sight of me cuts. The sound of my footsteps pounds.
I am the venture never taken. The marriage proposal was never given. The lie in the mirror and the broken promise made each New Year.
The book I wrote is written with the dry ink of forgotten dreams.
I live in every country that has forgotten its purpose. I sit in the pew of the church that leeched and bled its parishioners. I excuse the police officer who betrayed his oath.
I am the father who gambled away Christmas and the mother who drank the last drop of milk.
I am the face behind every mask and the pain you feel each morning.
Do you know me? Have you seen me?
Tell me who I am.
I hear your silent whisper, “You are Regret. You are me.”
Not yet.
But continue the way you are, and you will be.
The Art of Becoming is a newsletter about finding value in adversity and embracing discomfort. Each week, I share an idea on how to find fulfillment and a little joy and be more resilient, wiser, and better along the way.
It starts with you and me diving into discomfort.
Every Monday, I explore embracing the difficult and falling in love with the extreme. Nothing does that better than poetry.
As John F. Kennedy said, "When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses."
We need to see our limitations and revolt against them. Revel in the diversity and beauty that surrounds us every day, and remember, we are part of the weave and pattern that make up the universe.
I hope you join me.
Thanks for the comment, Chris. I wrote Learning the Name of Regret when I felt regretful and blamed everyone for problems. My wife told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and to look in the mirror if I wanted to blame someone. She's smarter than me. I hope you live your best life. Thanks again.
Michael, thank you for the reminder to live, and not waste life with regrets. Your personification of Regret makes me want to avoid it even more.