It’s that time of year again! The time of year where I officially become one year older and, contrary to what one might expect, I spend a large chunk of the day reliving all the regrets I have of my life. Which, on a birthday, is super lame!
I know what you’re thinking right now. It’s probably something like, “Live life with no regrets” or “Never regret anything, everything makes you stronger and better” or something positive like that. I totally get that. But, you know, sometimes you just want to sit around and troll the facebooks and look at all your friends from high school or college school or grad school or not-school and see how they all are, like, assistant managers of important sections of very large companies or have two kids or just published a book (I’m looking at you Matthew and Joanna)… and you’re like, ‘Whaaaaaa? When did THAT happen?”
And then you’re like, “I just got older!”
And then you’re like, “Life is overrrrr! And I faaaaaaailed!”
And then you’re like, “I might be overreacting right now but I don’t care!”
So, because I’m preeeeeeeetty sure that I’ve more or less killed this blog and it’s now mine, MINE I tell you!, to write whatever I need to write about and only the die hards who are my good friends anyway are going to read it (maybe), I’m going to do what I’m good at and write a little bloggity blog post on some regrets that are particularly horrific to me this beautiful May morning.
Regret the First: That I couldn’t figure out a way to assimilate into some sort of fun, interesting, Harvardy/MITy group of people outside of my grad school cohort when I lived in Boston (other than Beth, who saved my life). Cousin Dave is in Boston now and he seems to be having a much better time of it all–this could be just because of the fact that it’s my birthday and everyone seems to be having a better time of things in general, but regardless…I wish I could have been brave enough to be less shy. And if I had been less shy then I could have been able to act more “normal” and “confident.” And if I had been those things then I might have been able to be in-real-life friends with people that I’m only now finding out share a crap load of my same ideas and feelings about certain things since they’re all popping out of the woodwork now that I’m more of an online presence in certain intellectual sectors of the thing we can the internet. Lame. So many, many, many lonely days wasted.
Regret the Second: That I never had a straight-up “You’re mean to me and I want to know exactly why” conversation with a handful of roommates. Also, I regret that I tried to then make up to them by friending them on facebook, hoping they might say hi! in some nice way after I did…but then they didn’t…and then it crushed me again. AGAIN! I let it happen again! I regret not having more of a backbone when people are mean to me (which reminds me of a related regret involving one of my grad school advisers who deserved to get a drink in the face…which I may or may not have fantasized about doing).
Regret the Third: Actually…I can’t think of a regret the third.
WHICH IS TELLING!
It’s telling to me that every. single. year. on my birthday I’m crippled with regret over things that happened (or didn’t happen) to me over five years ago. And they all involve people who I wanted to be friends with not being friends with me–openly, obviously, and painfully.
So, a lesson: always be friends with people, unless they’re being obviously super mean to you, in which case you should throw a drink in their face, reality TV style. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.