11/3/13
Fiction-y.
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I suppose my mother was right, but I'd never tell her that, never tell her that she discerned something about myself that I hadn't seen.
Or maybe I didn't want to see it. Maybe I was reveling in the simple facts of friendship, without wanting to worry about. . . complications. Maybe I already knew that even if I felt the way she said I did, I couldn't act on it. After all, I wasn't really his type. Right?
But now it's too late. I doubt our trajectories will ever truly meet again. Not like it was, anyway. There was only that brief, sudden window of time but I was too kind and too naive and too--shall I say it?--cowardly to say anything. We're on different paths now, I suppose, but what if we weren't?
I can't live in the land of what-if; I live in the land of here-and-now, and in such a land, there are no second chances.
So I'll never tell my mother she was right because it doesn't matter anyway. Not anymore.
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I don't know if this makes any sense, but I think ... well. You choose what you do, or don't do, with information. Sometimes (at least, I hope), missed opportunities are only missed when we decide that they are, if that makes sense.
ReplyDeleteI sometimes tell myself that I've lost my chance to try to repair broken relationships, and then suddenly they reach out to me, and I realize I could have done the same.
Not that I'm saying you should do that. Just ... you could. If you wanted. If it mattered enough.
Also: I am continually surprised by learning that my parents sometimes know me, or bits of me, better than I thought they did.
It makes sense, that sometimes missed opportunities are only such when we decide that. But, sometimes, other information also provides context to the idea that it is, indeed, missed.
ReplyDeleteYeah, parents can be smart. :) I'm re-learning that.