If only . . .

“If only . . .” Two words I wish I’d never learned to put together. Alone, they’re fine. But when combined, they create regret, sorrow, and perpetual discontent. If only I had done this, if only I hadn’t done that. If only I had made the most of this opportunity, this friendship, this experience. There’s never been a situation where the two words can’t twist and pollute whatever was. They’ve been my constant companion all my life, and I can only try to purge them from my life.

I recently returned to my high school for a reunion. It was where I spent four dramatic years of my life, and, as I walked the campus, the familiar refrain wanted to sing for all to hear. Visiting a 10th grade English class, I wished I had made more of my classes. Wandering the expansive facilities, I wished I had appreciated the campus. Playing in the alumni soccer game, I wished I had pushed myself physically when I was a student. “If only” was spoiling my weekend.

Fortunately, I was with some of the people I’d known longest. Despite the miles we’d traveled since graduating, they were still incredible gifts I’d been given. Standing in the senior dorm and looking out at the lacrosse field, I was thankful for the campus and experiences I’d had. Handing the school librarian a copy of my novel, and the chaplain a copy of my meditations, I realized I’d learned more than I thought when sitting in those classrooms.

“Acceptance is the key . . . ” says a wise book I know, and slowly I used it to unlock a new perspective: Instead of regret, I found gratitude . . . instead of embarrassment, I found compassion . . . instead of sorrow, I found joy.

Perhaps I can use that in the rest of my life.