(no subject)

[solitary_summer]

For all my whining, on my better days at last, when I really think about it, I have surprisingly few regrets.
The old question - if you had a chance to do it all over again, what would you do differently - I wouldn't really know how to answer. It's not as if the choices I made were brilliant (they mostly weren't), but they made me who I am, and somehow I can't regret that. If I had thought more along the lines of effective career planning, e.g., how many other things would I have lost, because I wouldn't have had the time? Literature, art... True, maybe I wouldn't have felt the loss, but as it is, being who I am, I'm not sure I'd like this possible me.

Sometimes I can believe that when I come out of this, it will be as a stronger person, secure in myself. Or maybe that's a momentary delusion and wishful thinking; maybe our lives aren't linear in that sense. Maybe we never learn.

And maybe either thought bears a touch of my mother's practical defeatism.


Is that egocentric? Wallowing in my passivity? Making a virtue out of necessity? Or maybe the only way not to go insane pondering an endless sequence of might have beens?


I don't know how this adds up with the rest of my personality, either