Roads Not Taken

I’ve been on a journey this month—literally and figuratively—reviewing the roads not taken, looking back at the decisions I’ve made in past years and where they’ve led me.

I love my life; it is a very good life. I am blessed to have this life. Still, I feel grief for the things I have released. Letting go is a long process. We have to say no to say yes. And it’s okay to feel joy, gratitude, and relief, while still feeling regret, loss, and endings.

I traveled back to the U.S.—to my hometown of St. Paul, MN, and to the southeastern corner of the state, the Driftless Region—where I owned a farm and raised my kids. I saw it with eyes fresh from a new place. I could see the beauty of the land again. I could feel the closeness of my loved ones with me now. It brought up old fantasies of how things might have gone and how they would be going now if I had not made the changes I made. From this vantage point, it was hard not to get pulled into believing that it could have turned out differently.

The desires I once held still lingered there, and I found myself wondering if I had made a mistake. Did I give up on something that could have worked? Did my release create some kind of “wrongness” for myself and the ones I love?

Seeing it from where I am now, this beautiful vision of connection and support and things “working out” feels like it would have actually happened. Perhaps it only feels possible now because I am seeing it with new eyes. I imagine myself stronger than I was then, with my Self intact in the way it is now, and it feels like maybe I could have done it differently. But the way I got these eyes—the strength and perspective I have now—was to go through everything I’ve been through. To say no, to leave, to experiment, to follow what was calling me.

There is this part of me that is a doubter—saying, “Bad, bad, bad… selfish, hurtful, destroyer. This could have all worked out if you had held firm.” Who knows? To live with these thoughts is painful, and to hold the paradox—believing both things, “I did the right thing / I did the wrong thing”—is complex.

I once read that the best way to work with regret is to do now what you imagine you would have done then—to move in the direction of the feeling you wanted to create.

I can’t go back, but I can ask myself:

• How can I foster the closeness and support I still desire?

• How can I be present to what has changed, honor what remains, and act with integrity now?

• How can I use what has grown in me in service to myself and my loved ones from where I am now?

I will work on compassion, understanding, love, forgiveness of myself—being here in this world, in this life, in this moment—imperfect and experimenting.

Sending so much love to all.