If Regret Were Real



DC Graffiti Collection


Fleeting regret is the hardest to handle. Missing a shot out of left field, or making the ‘wrong’ decision after deliberation (all the thoughts) never really stings that much. Sometimes you can’t see whats coming, and sometimes you just have to do something. These actions can be rationalized away into their neat, perfectly cubed holes.  But is the moments when, for a a brief second, you know something definitively. You understand and believe in the future that could exist. Instinct and intuition. For whatever reason, you follow neither. This stings. It becomes regret.


“I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly love the company you keep in the empty moments.”- The Invitation 


The Little Prince teaches that when something is yours, you also belong to it. Intuition is yours. It is true, pure in form, and for a brief second, completely unto you. Each moment that we betray the instincts then, we feel ourselves break a little in response. So what shifts us from this track? When do we finally learn to follow our intuition?

“We’re all on the brink of despair, all we can do is look each other in the face, keep each other company, joke a little…” -Jeb, La Grand Bellasa


Positive psychology says we do it once, and we chase the  good feelings of continuity and wholeness. Negative psychology says: perhaps, today is the day I have had enough. Today I will run from regret.  Neither solution really matters, because after all, each moment isdifferent. Dwelling never does much either. It pushes you to understand the path you are on, which pebbles are placed where, but change a single detail, and you’re lost to the world.


Perhaps today is the day.Today, I will run from regret.


There is pattern to the times I regret less. They usually come after periods of royal, continuous screwups. There are piles of pages full of ramblings underneath them. And you can bank there having been moments deemed impossiblenevergoingtohappenthissiatruth (ohiguessnot) surrounding these times.  They are times when by luck and fate, I know myself best, I am most familiar with the pieces inside. Perhaps then, by being familiar with who we are, we better recognize our instincts. We see them not as scary, foreign objects of doom and peril, but as parts of ourselves we know can exist. From there, it brings it back to the beginning. You either rationalize off what you now can see, and do not choose, or revel in the person you become.


To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . .


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