One thing I do know: regret is killing my joy. It’s probably also inhibiting my relationships. 

Underneath the regret must be some kind of ego force at work, an inability or unwillingness to accept what is. 

I pour out my heart in prayer every day, praying for the capacity to let go. Just to be. I am trying. 

That an organism, a sentient being, would have an instrument that self-inflicts its own despair is a mystery. We are here like blades of grass and then we vanish for an eternity. Whew! There just is no time for sorrow. It’s a terrible waste of the preciousness and beauty of life, friendship and love. It makes no sense.  

My dog doesn’t live in regret. Nor does a quarterback who throws a game winning touchdown with five seconds left, only to get it voided by a holding call. The job of the quarterback is to get right back in the game and throw another one. And yeah, sure, the odds are against throwing yet another touchdown pass with five seconds to go.

But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the point is to go through life constantly regenerating, constantly striving with a joyful, positive outlook, regardless of what might be happening in the moment. I seem to know all this. But feeling it, embodying it, seems to be an entirely different and more challenging matter.