Missed Opportunities

Trying not to regret the past but embrace the future.

Last week, I went on another round of campus visits with my 17-year-old daughter, this time in D.C. As I mentioned in a previous post, “Good News: The Jesuits Know What We Should Do Next,” thanks to the very impressive student tour guides, these college visits are like mainlining hope.

First of all, it’s AH-mazing how these students can recall all those facts and figures—the meal plans, the core requirements, the dorm layouts! And present these details with authority and enthusiasm to a large group of hot and tired people, all while walking backwards. But what's truly awe-inspiring is the ambition of these student leaders. They are involved in so many college clubs and organizations, they have internships, they are going places!

For me, though, there is an unfortunate side effect to these college tours. I can spiral into a low self-esteem vortex. I find myself regretting not being more engaged during my own college years and wishing I had better utilized the freedom and opportunities available to me in my twenties.

Why didn't I study abroad during my junior year? My BFF Kelly did, and I usually followed her lead. Why, when my sister died when I was in my mid-twenties, didn't I quit my job and hike the Appalachian Trail (AT) to process my grief and then write a best-selling memoir about my experience, like Cheryl Strayed did? Or why didn’t I live like a bohemian pursuing my art in the Village? Can’t you see me and Chris in Bob Dylan’s apartment? Chris would be strumming on the guitar while I typed away. Smoking butts of course. (BTW, no one says “butts” anymore, according to my teens.)

I don't know why I didn’t do any of those things, but I can guess.

I can't help but think my alcoholism played a large part in keeping me stuck in my twenties. Either subconsciously, I didn't put myself out there because I wanted to stay put in a familiar drinking scene. Would I be able to drink every night while hiking the AT? OR the other scenario might be I couldn't motivate myself because I was sloshed half the time.

In the rooms, you often hear people speak about how they had “bar stool plans.” When drunk at the bar, they’d proclaim they were going to go on a cross-country road trip or hike Machu Picchu. But they never did any of those things. They’d sit at the bar night after night and only talk about doing those things before eventually falling off their stool. Maybe that’s why in my twenties, I hung a map of the Appalachian Trail on my office cubicle wall, but never ever made an actual plan to hike it.

Another thing you often hear about in recovery meetings is “geographic cures,” when people would relocate from one city to another in an attempt to fix their issues. When they tell these stories from the AA podium, they are making the point that it didn’t work because “wherever you go, there you are.” But when I hear these stories, I can’t help but think: Why didn't I go work on a cruise ship? or Why didn't I just up and leave and go live in Japan?

These thoughts are neither helpful nor productive. They only result in me feeling shitty about myself. And can I give myself a break? My brother William died when I was 18 years old, and my sister Julia died when I was 25 years old — both formative years. If those tragedies hadn’t happened, perhaps I’d feel secure enough to pursue the adventurous plans I had dreamed about.

Maybe. I don't know. Now I feel like I'm making excuses and blaming my lack of ambition on the death of my siblings.

Do you see what it's like to be in my brain?

Funny enough, this subject of missed opportunities has come up recently in other Substack posts I follow.

In “Dreams of the Early 90s,” Sari Botton said,

“I’m happy with where it all ultimately led me, to the life I’m living now. Still, I have regrets about how haphazardly I approached life, how I squandered those years, beginning when I was a few months shy of 27.”

Yes, Sari, me too!

But here's what I've learned in recovery: regret keeps us stuck in the past. Today, I can choose to focus on what's ahead—my children’s future (although I’m not living vicariously through them, I swear! Well, maybe a little …), my own writing journey that I'm finally embracing, and the gifts of sobriety that allow me to be fully present for both.

Amy Byrnes wrote about missed opportunities in her wonderful Substack "The Midlife Diaries.” But then she said this:

“I think a lot of us Midlifers are finding ourselves in the In-Between — smack dab in the middle of two chapters. The one we’re just emerging from saw us in the throes of raising our families. … And now we have this whole new chapter staring at us. There are so many blank pages waiting for us to fill in. And in this chapter, we get to be the main character.”

Okay, Amy, I’m ready to be my main character. Let’s do this!

If there were a tour guide for my next chapter, what would she say while walking backwards?

She’d say something about being able to choose a reduced meal plan that doesn’t require cooking dinner for five people every night, allowing for more free time to enjoy a hobby. She said she’s heard the gardening club is a lot of fun. She’d probably say, “Is anyone here interested in pickleball?” but I wouldn’t raise my hand, so she’d move on to the hiking club, which I’d listen to with interest. Then she’d point out that this next chapter has so many different options, but it’s really what YOU make of it.

And maybe that's exactly what I need to hear. No more regretting the study abroad program I missed or the AT hike I never took—it's time to embrace this new chapter with the same enthusiasm those college tour guides have for their meal plans and core requirements.

Disclaimer: To err is human. Please excuse any typos or grammatical errors. I use Grammarly, but mistakes still occur. In this world of AI, they're my way of keeping things delightfully human.