I wanted to comment on a great moment in a pretty good book by Kevin Canty, "Into the Great Wide Open". The protagonist, Kenny, is having coffee with his suddenly former high school English teacher. Through the course of the conversation, Kenny understands that she is attracted to him, and at one point when her hand is lying on the table he is considering whether or not he should touch it. The thrust of Kenny's thought process at this moment is that he would prefer to regret the things he has done rather than the things he didn't do. In the end, he doesn't touch her, the moment ends, and a future almost-romantic contact warrants only a passing mention near the end of the novel.
I know, of course, that I am like Kenny in my actions and not my intentions. I have few regrets about the things I have done, living by a very simple creed that there is no point to such regrets. The action can't be undone, after all, and the best approach to something that goes badly is to face your error and overcome it. This would all sound more admirable than it is if I had actually taken a few more risks during my life. But the truth is that I have mostly practiced risk management and avoidance, minimizing the opportunities for regret by trying to control as many variables as possible before entering into a situation. My life is uncomplicated, and this is not by accident.
This was a great problem for me during my single years, because I just could not ask a woman out unless there was a reasonably high probability that she would say yes. As a result, I often dated women who were not really what I wanted in a partner but was too intimidated to approach the women I did want. But what I really had most of the time was a series of platonic relationships with women who I wanted more than anything else to date in a traditional sense, but I either waited so long to be certain of not being rejected that her interest in me would have passed from attraction into friendship, or I was so enjoying the friendship that I didn't want to jeopardize it by pursuing something more. The only time I would try to move the relationship onto another level was when I valued the friendship so little that I didn't care if it ended or not, which should have been a pretty strong signal that this was the wrong woman to have for a girlfriend.
This still comes up even now. A month or so back (in fact, the day I began reading "Into the Great Wide Open"), I was in a coffee shop when a very attractive, very young woman made eye contact with me and smiled. Now, this could have been innocent eye contact, and she could have been smiling out of shyness or politeness or because my fly was down. One can never know with women, but I interpreted this as a smile of interest. The thing is, I have never trusted my instincts on this account, and therefore have no idea whether or not I was ever correct during any of the moments in my life when I thought a female might like what she sees. This girl couldn't have been more than 20, and I'm 41 and hardly a perfect physical specimen. But women are far less shallow than men, and maybe she likes them a little bit older. I have no idea, because I made no effort to find out if there was anything more to that smile. Let's set aside for a moment the fact that I am a happily married man who loves his wife and would do nothing to put at risk her love for me. Another man might have tried because part of the joy of life is the risk. Regret the things you've done, not the things you wished you'd done. I don't regret not talking to that girl; what I regret is the fact that I have allowed myself to become the kind of person who would regret not regretting that.
The one time in my life that I took a great risk was with my wife, and the result has been more than 13 years spent with a perfect partner. There is a lesson in that, and I really wish I had learned it earlier. I have two children who I am responsible for, and I no longer have the freedom to take the chances I ignored earlier in life. At 41, I am starting to regret the things I didn't do, and the timing is perfect, because for the first time I have both the attitude and the commitment to overcome my own instinct for the safe middle ground. Robert Frost wrote about taking the road "less traveled by", and this choice was his glory. I'm beginning to feel that, in some ways at least, I finally understand this poem, and I am ready to follow Frost into the undergrowth.
I know, of course, that I am like Kenny in my actions and not my intentions. I have few regrets about the things I have done, living by a very simple creed that there is no point to such regrets. The action can't be undone, after all, and the best approach to something that goes badly is to face your error and overcome it. This would all sound more admirable than it is if I had actually taken a few more risks during my life. But the truth is that I have mostly practiced risk management and avoidance, minimizing the opportunities for regret by trying to control as many variables as possible before entering into a situation. My life is uncomplicated, and this is not by accident.
This was a great problem for me during my single years, because I just could not ask a woman out unless there was a reasonably high probability that she would say yes. As a result, I often dated women who were not really what I wanted in a partner but was too intimidated to approach the women I did want. But what I really had most of the time was a series of platonic relationships with women who I wanted more than anything else to date in a traditional sense, but I either waited so long to be certain of not being rejected that her interest in me would have passed from attraction into friendship, or I was so enjoying the friendship that I didn't want to jeopardize it by pursuing something more. The only time I would try to move the relationship onto another level was when I valued the friendship so little that I didn't care if it ended or not, which should have been a pretty strong signal that this was the wrong woman to have for a girlfriend.
This still comes up even now. A month or so back (in fact, the day I began reading "Into the Great Wide Open"), I was in a coffee shop when a very attractive, very young woman made eye contact with me and smiled. Now, this could have been innocent eye contact, and she could have been smiling out of shyness or politeness or because my fly was down. One can never know with women, but I interpreted this as a smile of interest. The thing is, I have never trusted my instincts on this account, and therefore have no idea whether or not I was ever correct during any of the moments in my life when I thought a female might like what she sees. This girl couldn't have been more than 20, and I'm 41 and hardly a perfect physical specimen. But women are far less shallow than men, and maybe she likes them a little bit older. I have no idea, because I made no effort to find out if there was anything more to that smile. Let's set aside for a moment the fact that I am a happily married man who loves his wife and would do nothing to put at risk her love for me. Another man might have tried because part of the joy of life is the risk. Regret the things you've done, not the things you wished you'd done. I don't regret not talking to that girl; what I regret is the fact that I have allowed myself to become the kind of person who would regret not regretting that.
The one time in my life that I took a great risk was with my wife, and the result has been more than 13 years spent with a perfect partner. There is a lesson in that, and I really wish I had learned it earlier. I have two children who I am responsible for, and I no longer have the freedom to take the chances I ignored earlier in life. At 41, I am starting to regret the things I didn't do, and the timing is perfect, because for the first time I have both the attitude and the commitment to overcome my own instinct for the safe middle ground. Robert Frost wrote about taking the road "less traveled by", and this choice was his glory. I'm beginning to feel that, in some ways at least, I finally understand this poem, and I am ready to follow Frost into the undergrowth.
posted by George @ 12:28 p.m.
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