When I look back at my life,
I have many “regrets.”
I regret my lack of discipline when I was younger,
And the laziness that made TV seem more important than school;
a B seem fine when I could have made an A+.
The difference between mediocrities and greatness was Cartoon Network.
I regret that I never played sports,
Because physical discipline builds strength of mind,
But mine was a mind unused to fortitude.
Sweat costs less than anti-depressants. And therapy.
I regret that I was taught not to think critically, but to be critical.
That I was taught to believe in “truth” but not necessarily to question it.
Because the truth will set you free, but it has to be true,
How do I know it is true if I can’t ask questions?
I regret that I was a proselyte instead of a friend
When my friend told me he “swung both ways.”
“A friend loves at all times…” I guess I wasn’t a friend.
I regret that he died before I learned how to be one.
I regret so many things,
But I don’t regret the lessons.
Because regret is the red pen marking the essay that is my life.
And I can cry over my mistakes, and feel bad about my grades,
Or I can write a better essay.
You see, regrets don’t obstruct my progress,
They instruct my present so that I can
Construct a better version of myself.
So rather than equating regret with shame,
I choose to see the red as a gain: wisdom,
So that in the end, in truth,
I will have no regrets.