I was looking for some old lyrics that I had posted earlier this year when I came across a run of posts about my (broken) engagement. I couldn't quite decide what to do with these. Do I leave them be as a document of what led me to where I am now? Or do I surgically remove them from any semblance of memory? Are they evidence of a time when I once thought I was happy, or are they proof that I am a man that has made mistakes and poor decisions?
Lots of people say shit like "I have no regrets, because all of my regrets have made me who I am." That's completely fallacious and totally stupid because it makes the incredibly grand assumption that Who You Are is perfect and that it couldn't be better.
But you know what? I could be better. I'm certainly better now than I've been before, and I'm working really hard to deserve the good fortune I've had. I'm trying to retroactively earn the good graces of the friends I've made and the relationships I've maintained over these last few shitty years, and I think I'm doing an alright job of it.
Do I have regrets? Of course I do. Because I'm not an idiot. But having those regrets doesn't change the fact that I am here now, in this tiny yellow bullshit house that I didn't want to move into anyway (although I'm incredibly happy to be here now, oddly enough), typing away at a computer given to me as part of a job toward which I don't always feel terribly diplomatic (but that is giving me opportunities I never thought I'd have), thinking about people that I never thought would be a part of my life (but whom I have gotten to know very well and wouldn't have if things had been different).
So I'll sit here and regret the rash decisions, the lack of follow-through, and the pain I've caused. And I'll regret the manipulations and deceits and the pain I've received, too, because those are, in a way, as much my fault as the ones I've caused. Nothing that happened was something to which I did not subject myself. And I'll leave those goddamn postings up there to remind myself of how not to live, the sort of thing you want to avoid, the misplaced priorities that culture and missing your grandmother and a crisis of faith can create. And I can be satisfied with that. I'll take my lumps and learn my lesson(s) and blame no one but me.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think you're really smart. And I worry that you don't always know that. You deserve to, in any case.