There aren't many living, viable links between our past, present and future outside of ourselves and the loved ones we accumulate. Choices we make are of the few, however.
I fell ass over tits into the woulda-shoulda-couldas a couple weeks back, and I'm just now making my way back to sanity and/or serenity. Thinking along those lines equals time-wasting negativity, and a little bastard named regret. I'm not a fan. That term implies you had a road to pick and you botched it in some way. You can't really botch a road unless you paved it, if you catch my breeze. Regret implies that, in essence, you're doomed to carry around the burden of an enacted theory that didn't pan out ideally (usually in the far off lands of Hindsight and Retrospect), and it's kind of a cop-out. If one tends to stick by any decision and embrace the resulting person thereof...you get the picture.
Wouldn't it be rad though, if you had a wise, motherly pixie to show up and grant you a glimpse at the alternatives you declined, to re-affirm the road you did travel? She'd materialize (a Regina King/Glenda the Good Witch/Cindi Lauper in her heyday hybrid) and say, "Don't you worry, darlin'. Let's take a lighthearted look and see what else might have happened. Then it will be better, because you'll know and knowing is half the battle, right?" And you'd be all, "Thanks...you rock. LOAD off my mind! Can I have a cookie too?" There's no doubt she'd be packin' some fresh-from-the-oven Snickerdoodles. They're the most nostalgic cookie. it's true.
Life is a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, I think. The main plot points that need to be will, but how you get there is up to you. There's no reason to cry over spilt milk, or how it was spilled. What the glass looked like. Soy, Chocolate or Banana. Doesn't matter. Even if it seems really important to figure it all out, you're better off just letting it go. Bottom line is try not to spill at all, folks. You're magic cookies won't taste as good without it.
Wait...what?
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