Personal Musings

I have, so much as possible, tried to live a life without regrets. As a result, I have given the big decisions in my life all the attention they need so that I haven't had to regret them. And once a decision has been made, I have accepted all the ugly consequences I overlooked. I believe regret distracts us from the challenge of leading a happy life.

However, there is one bundle of regrets I can't overcome. Three times in my life I've made decisions to relocate (or not relocate) from one coast to another, and three time I think I've made a mistake.

Experience makes all things relative, and what I once considered to be the fault of bad timing now seems to have been more the fault of bad judgment. When I was younger, I was impetuous and a little short-sighted. I was closed-off emotionally, focused solely on how to make myself happy. I thought I had more control over things than I actually do, and I desperatley wanted to get someplace in life I thought would make me secure.

At 31, I feel I've mostly corrected these personality flaws. Though, I feel it may be too late to make much difference. I hope I'm wrong, but how does one seriously accept that his life is only just beginning in his early 30's? How does he prevent old regrets from spawning fresh doubts?

I know now that I made some bad tactical decisions in plotting the course for my life. But it's impossible to know how the arc of seven or eight years will play out. Ironically, only at the end does someone see the full impact of missed opportunities. I look back now and wonder where things would be if I had picked an alternative course on just one of those occasions.

If I'm lucky--truly lucky--maybe I can salvage some lost time. If I'm not, then I at least hope to make a final peace with my regrets.

I have found my center and become a gyroscope. Wobble me, bobble me; still it holds.

It's been three years since I came to Seattle, and (finally) I think all the nasty edges have been whittled away. There are still a few areas I'm working to improve. But, the legacy of other places and times has mostly been erased.

Before, I was cruel and impatient. My misanthropic tendencies governed my attitude. I was indelicate and ungracious in expressing my opinions. Slow to praise I would rush to criticize. Now I am tolerant to the point of impracticality. I consider the impact of my words and actions on other people and wonder how to be a less discomfitting presence. I enjoy the calm that comes from allowing other people their way in the world. If a thing is one I cannot change, there is little point in letting it knock me out of balance.

I mention all these things because they became obvious to me while in New York. In the subway tunnels it was common for the crowd to push around me, like a river runs past the legs of a bridge. I was slow and plodding quite nearly to being still. They were limitless and in motion. One evening as I was walked down Central Park West an elderly gentleman sped by me. I don't remember anyone lapping me in New York when I lived there, not even spry old folk. Once I would have picked up my pace, joined the crowd and run by, or over, anyone who blocked my progress. I certainly wouldn't have been overtaken by the elderly.

The hard part, I think, will be finding the right momentum to hold my center. I am, after all, become a gyroscope.

It's been a busy few days. But I think my New York itch has been scratched.

Though I consider the Big Apple to be my home, I'm happy to enjoy the fresh air and pace of life in Seattle for a long while more.