Chances Are

I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets. D. H. Lawrence

The follies which a man regrets most in life are those which he didn’t commit when he had the opportunity. Helen Rowland

CHANCES are, somewhere in our cherished past, there was someone that we thought was the one, someone that we couldn’t have, the one that got away.

What might have been – if the person that we thought was the one, was actually there beside us now. What possibilities lie in wait – if the one that we couldn’t have, was in fact ours for the taking. What promises lurk in the horizon – if the one that got away, didn’t really get away and stayed with us forever and a day.

The sleepless nights and cold mornings we spent pining for that one lost love would have receded from the misty staleness of our regrettable long-ago. There wouldn’t have been so many what-if’s and what-not’s befuddling our thoughts and actions in the wee hours of our sporadic ponderings. Love’s follies might have taken another turn – perhaps towards something more wonderful, a bit more unpredictable and lusciously unthinkable.

Even as the one with us has become increasingly less exciting as well as less appreciated. The magic has faded a bit, the spell broken by the humdrum of constant togetherness. Familiarity breeding boredom, certainty creating dullness. Mostly crises, no more surprises. The mystery is gone, and romance – or a veneer of it – sheepishly flies out the window.

But, woefully, the object of our lamentation will remain just that – somewhat to be sorry for and frustrated about, to endlessly shake our heads in mute disappointment, to hopelessly utter in our inner wrestling -- what a waste, what a pity, never will it be.

***

Chances are, sometime in our moments of vacillation, there were choices we had to take, to be or not to be, to plunge headlong or to drop out altogether, to do or die for what we thought was the be-all of what we are here for.

Only to find out in the bitter end that the road we traveled on was crammed with bends and forks, sticks and stones, hills and thorns. That there was a smoother path, after all – more rewarding and satisfying, a tad less maddening and aggravating. Not too many jerks and jolts, fewer humps and bumps, no sharp turns and blind alleys, no waste of precious time.

What if we gave vent to our idealistic, romantic, artistic inclination rather than the realistic, prosaic, pragmatic? What if we followed the less beaten path, the light that beckoned at the end of the tunnel, the whispers in our head urging us to cultivate the cravings of our soul? What if we opted to play devil’s advocate instead of going for the jugular, or to play it safe instead of throwing caution to the wind?

Life might have been nothing like we know it now. But the choices we made then were borne out of daring; a leap of faith, as it were; a shot in the dark; a vote of confidence on ourselves – never mind the twists of fate that prowled in ambush. They made us become what we are today, freckles and all – never mind the cruel jokes that besieged our defenses. We thought, therefore we are – nothing more, nothing less.

***

Chances are, if we were given another opportunity at righting a wrong, repairing a tarnished friendship, mending a heart that was badly broken, doing a task, a favor or a cause that was left undone in our haste to keep pace with the exigencies of the here and now – we wouldn’t think twice about acting on it this time around.

Was our youth wasted when we were young? Did we aspire to be somebody but didn’t have the wherewithal to make it come about? Did we harbor intense feelings for someone but didn’t have the guts to let them know? Did we miss out on something – the prom, probably, or a shot at the varsity team – because resources were scarce or our skills didn’t measure up?

Did we let go of our heart’s desire because we chose to follow the dictates of our mind?

Regret can be the most painful of human emotions; more painful, perhaps, than defeat or failure, rejection or deprivation, loneliness or sorrow. It robs us of many possibilities, of savoring a cloudburst of other sensations and basking in the celestial afterglow. It denies us the prospect of ever knowing what is at the end of the rainbow, what is at the other side of the realm, what becomes of the wish that our heart makes.

For isn’t life all about taking chances, a second chance, another chance? Isn’t it all about seizing the moment, taking a stand, letting it be? Win some, lose some. Put up or shut up, conquer or perish. If it feels right and warm inside, go for it!

And chances are, if we can live our life all over again, we would live it the way we want it to be lived. Not so much as to defy the fortunes, dare the fates, taunt destiny. Neither to shrink like a violet, hide in a shell, or sit on a fence and leave room for more regrets. Life is already confounding as it is, without us making it even more so. Then we realize, one sad day, that regrets have already taken the place of dreams.