I should have written more this week but I find myself completely distracted by the Olympic games.
It happens every time they come on. I can't help it. They move me.
And I revisit how I would have loved to compete in my younger days. (Not now of course, unless I could convince the olympic committee to incorporate something like shuffleboard as an event. Then I might be convinced to train feverishly amid regular breaks of beer and nachos).
Not that I was anywhere near athletic perfection back then mind you - even in my prime (which was probably around fourteen). I wasn't even terribly athletic for that matter. And I could be oh so uncoordinated when attempting new activities.
Unfortunately, I was also fearless to the point of stupidity. (A characteristic my parents dutifully ignored because they figured I would eventually grow out of it.)
Little did they know this stubborness would simply transfer into other aspects of my life. But that is neither here, nor there. (Whatever that means).
But I digress...
In any case, when I was a young lass, a brash restlessness to test the boundaries of my limits overtook my more logical senses on a regular basis, resulting in a few injuries, all sustained before the age of 13; like crushing a couple of vertebrae together in my neck because I fell off a horse going over a fence I wasn't ready for, or flying off a mogul without any clue as to form and getting the tip of one ski practically stuck in my skull.
And of course, I ignored each and every injury, the extent of which I was blissfully ignorant upon receving, and repeated the exercise so as not to end the day on a negative note.
The Gods must have been on my side while no doubt shaking their heads at my complete indifference to the life they gave me. Good thing they had a sense of humour.
I'm still convinced I could have done it all back then.
If only... I had had a little focus.
But at the ripe young age of forty-something, I now know that hindsight is not only 20/20, but it's also so yesterday.
Interestingly enough, I have few regrets. As one athlete quipped earlier today, "everyone has their path, this was mine", (or something to that effect).
Being an olympic athlete was simply not part of mine.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda.
Dreamers beware.
Shoulda, woulda coulda are three dirty little words, that when accompanied by the infamous 'if only' become a sour recipe for regret and its ensuing disease hindsightitis.
These are our worst enemies in the art of letting go. They hold us back from truly experiencing the wonders of life in the here and now.
I had other things to conquer in life, things to beat on a personal nature that can't be timed on a clock or gauged by a medal. As do most people.
And I still have many things to do that are as exciting to me as practicing for the olympics would be for a world-class athlete.
It's all relative.
Life is relative.
It's all about being good with where you are and what you're doing.
Accpeting the choices you've made (or forgiving yourself for some) as well accepting things for which you had no control but that affected your life anyway - whether you agreed to them or not... whether you like them or not...
And then there are choices you embark upon to make the necessary changes in your life that take you out of the comfort zone you've been used to - sometimes for the last twenty-five years.
But don't worry, Darwin was right. We're pretty good at evolving to accomodate our newer circumstances - bigger and better than ever.
Accepting, letting go, changing, living for the moment, and looking to the future with an open heart and mind.
That's the key.
These are all things you must do to keep from contracting 'hindsightitis' or 'regrettaphobia' and other unnamed diseases of the heart and mind that prevent you from living fully and enjoying every stage of your life for what it offers you in the form of love and learning.
So as I watch the olympic games and feel the adrenaline pound in my chest for every athlete whose hard work, heart ache, sacrifice and last minute injuries add to the drama and celebration of my own life, I am grateful, not regretful.
Grateful they exist to remind me of the joy of following your passion. Grateful to share in their experience and energy, because their courage only adds to my own.
Next - Part II...
